


Vide Cor Meum

by LoungingLux33



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Dancing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Murder, My First Smut, Nightmares, Operas, Porn With Plot, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Secrets, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-01-02 01:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoungingLux33/pseuds/LoungingLux33
Summary: An alternate version of the Hannibal TV series, in which Hannibal takes an interest in the ex-wife of Garrett Jacob Hobbs - a woman who has secrets of her own - after saving her life on the kitchen floor that fateful morning. Follows the rough outline of Season One of the show.





	1. Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long one that I'm editing as I go through, so buckle up for a long, slow ride!

She woke with no idea of what day it was. White walls, white sheets, a man beside her, sleeping in a chair and holding her hand. He was very handsome, she saw, and he looked familiar. But how...?

As she stirred, so did he. But when she tried to speak, she discovered the tube down her throat and began to choke, then panicked even more when she found it taped in place, her neck completely bandaged.

And that's when the memories came flooding back: Garrett, that morning in the kitchen, the cold knife against her throat, a gunshot, the sound of her blood splashing on the floor around her and then nothing...

She gasped, clawing at the tube. Her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came quick as her eyes darted around and her hands clawed at the tube.

As he woke, he observed her reaction clinically - almost coldly. When he spoke, it was with the authority of a doctor and all the emotion of a robot: "You’ve suffered a deep wound to your carotid artery. The surgeons were able to repair the damage and you will make a full recovery."

A nurse came into the room to check on the commotion. His demeanor changed slightly; he seemed to care more as he looked into her eyes and said in a hushed, relaxing tone, “Sophie. Listen to me, focus on my voice: you are having a panic attack. I want you to breathe for me, okay? Breathe deeply in.. for one, two, three. And out for one, two, three... in..."

He spoke slowly and in measured tones, forcing her to focus on his eyes and her breathing, and soon she felt her heart rate calm. His voice was so familiar, but she couldn't place it. All she felt was calm at the sound of his accent, elegant and smooth, and the sight of him.

His eyes were peaceful dark pools. His mouth was like a closed switchblade. He spoke now, quieter so that she needed to focus on him and him alone: "You are safe. Garrett Hobbs is dead." 

Her eyes widened - he was dead. My god, she thought, he was finally dead, and she was finally safe...

The nurse interrupted to explain that she would remove the breathing tube now that she was awake, and in a few moments she was free to speak and alone with her visitor once again. 

She still couldn’t comprehend what was happening, but he seemed to care and that soothed her. "You'll learn all about what has happened in time, but for now your focus must remain on your health and recovery. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

After a few moments of calm, she finally spoke for the first time since the incident. With a voice rusty from disuse, she managed one question: "Who are you?"

"My name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. And I am here to help."

-

As it turned out, Doctor Lecter was indeed there to help her. That first day after she woke, he introduced himself formally and walked her through the chain of events that led her to her current position.

After the FBI entered the kitchen and Garrett opened her throat, they shot him and saved her.Someone apparently held the wound on her neck closed while the ambulance arrived; that was how she had survived. But he couldn't tell her who had been her savior. No matter how many times she asked, or who she asked, no one knew - or would admit to - who had saved her.

She found it interesting that Doctor Lecter held such an interest in her well being. He was a psychologist who worked with the FBI as a consultant on the hunt for Garrett Hobbs - or the Baltimore Shrike, as they'd named him in the press. For whatever the reason, Doctor Lecter had taken her mental recovery upon himself after being so closely enmeshed in the case. No matter his reasoning, she found after a few more visits that she rather enjoyed his company.

While she was to stay at the psychiatric ward of the hospital for the indefinite future, she also remained in Doctor Lecter's care with the occasional visit from Doctor Alana Bloom, also with the FBI. Where Doctor Lecter had no pretense, she couldn't read Doctor Bloom. Something in the way Bloom asked her questions led her to think that the good doctor was withholding information; specifically the fact that Sophie’s innocence was actually in question.

Because she felt Doctor Bloom's skepticism in her innocence, Sophie preferred to speak with Doctor Lecter. He would hold their sessions at her bedside, in the room that they had decorated sparsely to disguise the fact that it was a room in a psychiatric hospital where they kept her, the former wife of a dead serial killer.

His easy way with conversation and his charm belied the fact that he was a doctor. But after a few weeks of daily visits and hours upon hours of discussion, she realized that this man was much more than just a doctor.

One day a little more than two weeks into her recovery, she woke with a start in the middle of the night after a terrible nightmare sent her into a panic. In the dream, she and Garrett were at dinner in a fancy restaurant when he suddenly turned on her and grabbed her by my hair like he had that morning, producing a knife from somewhere and bringing it to her neck. As the cold steel touched her skin, she woke, tangled in the sheets and sweating, heart pounding out of her chest.

At his visit that day, she told Doctor Lecter about her nightmare. He listened with great interest.

"Of course the nightmares are a normal part of the healing process," he began, his concern clear on his face. "But that doesn't make them any easier to handle."

She half-shrugged, "I just can't forget... the awful things they say he did, I don't know how... it's like I'm responsible for it."

Of course she knew the truth; Garrett had told her he would kill her if she ever left, and he instead took his violent fantasies out on women that looked like her.

And he made Sophie lure them to him.

That power - as much as she didn’t want it, left her doubtful of her own innocence at times. So she fed Doctor Lecter safe half-truths that maintained her innocence while masking the truth; that she felt just as responsible for these girls' deaths as Garrett. She wasn’t about to reveal the whole truth to anyone, especially not with Dr. Bloom already fishing for reasons to damn her.

With Doctor Lecter at her bedside, she wrung her hands in her lap and explained that she was nervous about the nightmares coming back the next night.

"Tonight, when you go to bed, I want you to do something for me," he began.

She nodded. 

"When you close your eyes, I want you to focus on your happy memories. Childhood recollections, holiday celebrations, whatever brings you happiness and joy, I want you to recreate those memories and examine each detail. Try to remember what you wore, how the food tasted, what the air smelled like, was it warm? Cold?”

“By occupying your mind with the details of these pleasant memories, you'll break the cycle of anxiety that leads to these dreams."

That night when she went to sleep, she focused on her pleasant memories as he'd instructed - and all of them involved Doctor Lecter, it seemed. She recalled him playing cards with her during a session the week before: how the scent of him coming in from the cold filled her nostrils, how his eyes sparkled when she bested him at chess and laughed triumphantly. She felt the warmth of the blanket on her lap against the chill in the air, remembered the way his smile curled at the corners and revealed his teeth - and how that smile only came out when he was with her. She felt herself drift off peacefully, and dreamt about how soft his lips would feel against hers.

She didn't have any nightmares that evening. But apparently she had feelings for Doctor Lecter.


	2. Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to the scene of the crime leads to new possibilities between Sophie and Doctor Lecter.

The following week, before Doctor Lecter arrived for his visit one day, Special Agent Will Graham arrived with Dr. Bloom and Agent Crawford for a surprise visit. Something about the way Crawford asked her questions about Garrett - and Graham and Bloom's reticence about every question - led her to believe they were skirting issues about her involvement in his crimes. But she wasn't about to let on.

When Doctor Lecter arrived after they had been peppering her with questions for almost an hour, she saw the slightest, almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor; he was on edge, protective even. She was becoming adept at reading his tiny expressions; the movements that others missed, she picked up on and understood better than anyone else in the room.

To neutralize the situation, Crawford recommended they go back home, to the place where Garrett nearly killed Sophie. For "closure" in his words. But judging by the way Dr. Bloom, Will, and even Doctor Lecter responded to his suggestion, Sophie could tell he was desperate for more than just her mental well being - he wanted evidence that would damn her.

She could play this game. 

When they arrived at the house, she climbed gingerly out of the car - her neck was still bandaged and tender, and her legs were weak from disuse. Doctor Lecter, unsurprisingly, was the first to come to her side with an arm extended for her to hold onto. She accepted with a soft smile and they approached the house.

As they led her from place to place - the front door they kicked in, the bedroom they’d shared, the kitchen where she nearly bled out - she noticed the reactions of each person:

While he was respectful and straightforward with the proceedings, Graham seemed distracted by his own issues; those that came with murdering someone, even if that someone was a murderer themselves. Sophie pitied him, but knew that he could be played either way and still couldn't be trusted entirely.

Doctor Lecter remained the only calm presence in any room they occupied. His eyes tracked her, not with suspicion; the mix of empathy and concern he had for her was palpable.

Much like Dr. Bloom, who seemed genuinely sympathetic, and didn't want her to have to face this so soon after the incident. She almost winced when they entered the kitchen, and Sophie appreciated that. Her earlier skepticism in Bloom all but disappeared now when she realized it was all Crawford.

He watched her like a hawk, waited for her reactions as she was shown the spot on the floor where Garrett died, the photos of them on the fridge that had been turned around by crime scene investigators, the two sparse boxes of evidence on the kitchen counter.

"Only two boxes?" she couldn't help but ask the group. 

Crawford was, of course, the first to respond. "Your husband was very good at what he did. He left virtually no evidence of his crimes."

A-ha. 

"That's what you brought me out here for? To find evidence?" she asked plaintively. 

Bloom looked hurt, Graham was almost surprised, Crawford remained stoic and Lecter... she thought she saw the faintest smile cross his lips when he realized the game she was playing now. So she played it even smarter.

"That's one of the reasons we brought you here, yes," Crawford began.

She clammed up and pretended to examine the photos on the fridge. "You're not going to find any evidence. I didn’t know what he was doing and never saw anything. If he treated them at all like the deer he hunted, he honored every part of those girls, just like a kill in the forest."

"'Honored'?" Dr. Bloom asked tentatively.

She turned to face them and found an audience she could really enjoy playing to. "Used. Nothing was wasted. He'd use deer pelt to stuff pillows and even grind up their bones for plumbing putty. If you're looking for those girls, you're better off checking people's bathroom pipes than this house."

Bloom and Graham looked stricken. Lecter remained impassively interested; admiring, even.

Crawford was stymied. He took a different approach and tried his hand at psychoanalyzing Sophie instead. 

“How does being here make you feel?" he asked quietly as he took a step closer, his body language conveying nothing but concern.

Dr. Bloom was visibly agitated at this - Sophie could almost hear Bloom bite her tongue to keep from admonishing her superior officer.

But she played along. As she moved to the sink and looked out at the backyard where Garrett and she would sit around the fire pit in the summer and watch the fireflies... for a moment she got lost in the memories, bittersweet and tainted, like fruit that had gone rotten. All those promises, those whispers between the sheets.... her throat tightened and her eyes watered.

“Sophie?” Calm and soothing, Doctor Lecter's voice roused her from her reverie. 

She spun and found him looking concerned. Blinking back the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks, she realized she wasn't playing the game anymore. 

"It makes me feel lost. Like I have no place to call home.” she said, hoarse. But not to Agent Crawford; to Doctor Lecter.

His brow creased at her sadness, and when Doctor Bloom realized what was happening, she finally stepped in to intervene. 

"Jack, that's enough," she said as she moved to Sophie’s side protectively. "It's still too soon, now is not the time," she warned. 

Sophie looked him in the eye now and found him unable to meet her gaze; he was embarrassed. A pang of self righteousness stabbed at her and she thought to herself good. You should be ashamed. 

Graham's cell rang in his pocket and after he looked down and read the message, he piped up from his place in the doorway, "Jack, its Price. We've got to go."

Sophie glanced from Graham to Crawford and finally to Doctor Lecter, who had never taken his eyes off her. Reluctantly, Crawford nodded and motioned with a hand for them to follow as he turned to leave. Dr. Bloom led Sophie out this time, allowing her to use her arm for balance as they walked back down the stairs and to the cars. But before she could climb into the car with Alana and Graham, Doctor Lecter stopped at his door. 

"Alana, why don't you and Will see what Price needs with Crawford. I'll make sure Sophie gets back to the hospital safely."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she struggled to keep her face neutral as she turned to Dr. Bloom. 

"Would you mind terribly?" she asked Sophie kindly as she placed an arm gently on hers. 

She glanced back at Doctor Lecter. "I don't mind."

He smiled and nodded. Dr. Bloom squeezed her arm and reassured her, "I'm so sorry you had to come out here. You get some rest, I'll come by later this week."

Sophie smiled, "Thank you, Doctor Bloom. I truly appreciate it."

While she made her way over to Doctor Lecter's luxe sedan, he opened her door for her. As she slipped into the posh leather seat, she felt instantly at ease as he closed the door and came back around to take the wheel.

After he closed his own door, they sat in silence for a few moments watching the cars of Dr. Bloom and Agent Crawford drive off. 

When he spoke, it was with tenderness. "I must reiterate what Doctor Bloom said: we did not wish to cause you any distress. This trip was entirely thanks to Jack Crawford's bulldog tendencies. How are you feeling now?"

"It's strange," she began, looking through the windshield at the house she used to call home. "I thought it wouldn't bother me, that I'd written him off because of the things he did. But when I looked out at the backyard, the memories..." she trailed off, throat tightening once more. 

He remained clinical, almost detached. "Memory is a powerful thing. The part of the brain that stores bad memories will sometimes compensate when one suffers a traumatic event; researchers say it is our body's way of protecting us. But that protection can lead to a warped perception of reality."

She turned to face him and he continued. "In your case, you are downplaying the negative in the relationship - and in your partner - to focus instead on the good memories. As painful as it may be, confronting and accepting the trauma you experienced is the only way to move past It."

She considered his words, and weighed her own response. "But what if... the trauma wasn't just what Garrett did? What if I wanted to forget things that I did? Does that complicate things?"

His expression never changed. If he was shocked by her semi-confession, he never let on. He simply cocked his head slightly and replied coolly, "Complication is what I do best."


	3. Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie gives Doctor Lecter a gift with her truth; he returns the favor.

The next day, the weather broke and allowed Doctor Lecter and Sophie to take a walk along the perimeter of the hospital. As he led her by the arm around the halls and out on the grounds, they neared a particularly violent patient who was out on a walk with an orderly. 

It was Dean, a man who had heard Sophie’s story in group therapy and started calling her filthy names and shouting all manner of obscenities at her when he saw her in the common rooms and hallways. When he neared them, she noticed Doctor Lecter's jaw tighten. 

Dean spotted his target and began to spit venom at her: "You fucking cunt with your pretty blue eyes and perfect pink lips, I want to fuck your mouth until you cry and cum all over your face!" 

His orderly wrangled him away and Lecter shielded Sophie, walking her off the path to avoid a confrontation. In seconds the incident had passed. 

She thought nothing of it after that, until the next day, when she woke to shouting and a commotion in the hallway: apparently someone had murdered Dean and left his body to be discovered in the garden - right where she’s seen him last, in full view of her bedroom window - in a most grisly way. And with his tongue ripped out.

When Doctor Lecter arrived for his visit later, she was still shaken by the unsettling news. Lecter, however, seemed unruffled. She couldn't help but wonder why.

Just like always, they sat at the table in the corner of the room with a deck of cards. As they shuffled and dealt, they discussed her treatments and how she felt she was doing in group therapy. She watched him with patient eyes and decided to tip her hand, just lightly. 

“What are your thoughts on plausible deniability?” She asked, feigning interest in her cards. She felt his gaze shift to her, saw his eyebrow quirk. 

“The idea of deniability is rooted in psychology,” he began, “but I would say it depends upon the situation.”

He wasn’t going to give her an inch, she realized. But he also didn’t jump at her like she was certain Bloom or Crawford would at that. So she pressed on. “I’m talking about my situation in particular.”

At this, he placed his cards down on the table and looked at her levelly. “Your situation is a special one, Sophie,” he offered kindly. “You were sharing a bed with a man who murdered women who looked just like you. Regardless of what you knew or didn’t know, the plausibility of your innocence is, as far as I’m concerned, not in question.”

She watched him as he spoke - he really meant what he said. He believed her to be innocent. She went one step further, the weight on her chest lightening with each word she said. “I knew he was killing them. I knew why. He said if he didn’t, he’d kill me.”

His eyes were soft on her, encouraging. She couldn’t help but let it all out. 

“I brought them to him.”

No one else would have caught his reaction, but she did. A micro expression, a twitch in one eye and a slight tilt of his head that indicated he had just heard something that interested him intensely. But it wasn’t because he had secured a confession; just the opposite. He’d earned her secret. 

And she was pleased to have given it to him. 

A beat. When he spoke, he picked up his cards slowly and focused his energy back on them as he replied, “Self-preservation is an instinct that many lack, Sophie.”

She smiled at his meaning. When he looked up from his cards at her, he was smiling now too. “Let’s not reveal that you have this particular skill set just yet, shall we? It can be… our little secret?”

His conspiratorial smile warmed her. She nodded as she picked up her cards with a sigh, “That sounds like a plan.”

After a few more plays, the game ended and they began another round of cards. On a roll now, she spoke tentatively, "You didn't seem shocked to hear about Dean's murder."

He never looked up. "It is shocking, the manner in which he was killed, yes."

Emboldened by their discussion, she pressed further. "I know he was terrible to me, but he doesn’t know the truth...” 

This piqued his interest. He looked up at her. "He showed no concern for how his words affected others. I consider discourtesy to be unspeakably ugly.”

His words struck her; she watched him with a soft smile, slightly amazed by his explanation.

When he saw her reaction, his gaze softened. He looked at her with tenderness that made the heat rise in her cheeks. When he spoke now, it was in a quiet, conspiring tone: "It seems to me that if he wasn't able to mind his tongue, he shouldn't be allowed to keep it."

It was in that moment she realized: this man was much more than a doctor. She’d chosen wisely by sharing her truth with him.  
-  
That night, she had another nightmare and woke screaming. Orderlies had to come in and sedate her. It was the worst one she’d had since the incident.

When Doctor Lecter arrived for their session the next morning, he found her in a still-drugged state and stepped into the hallway to find out what happened from the nurse on duty. She followed his figure with heavy-lidded eyes and smiled when he came back in.

"My, my. What have we here?" he asked as he took his place at her bedside. 

Her head lolled to the side and she slurred. "I had a bad dream, Doctor."

His face tightened; he hated to see her in this compromised state. "So I've been told by your nurse. Apparently they've given you a powerful sedative, against my orders as well."

“You gave orders?” she asked with a mock salute, laughing at her cleverness.

He couldn't help but smile. "I have indeed, soldier. But you're not the one who needs to be following them. You see; my instructions for your caretakers here have your best interests at heart."

She smiled, unable to hide her admiration for him now. He continued, "When they disobey these orders and simply drug you to keep you quiet, they are dismissing the underlying issue. This not only displeases me, but does harm to you."

"I would never displease you," she said, the last word drawn out. He smiled kindly. Her filter was off and he found it endearing.

"And I know you wouldn't. But the fact remains that the nightmares will invariably come back now. Most likely stronger than before, due to the effects of this medicine they have given you."

His words sunk in and the panic rose in her chest. "Stronger? But... but this was the worst one yet..." she dissolved into tears, exhausted, slumping into the pillow.

He leaned forward and brushed the mussed hair from her face and stroked her tears away with a soft, warm thumb. "Shh, it's alright. Do not worry; I'll help you with the nightmares."

She sniffled, "When you're not here? How?"

He sat back up, "To break the cycle of anxiety this time, I want you to try changing people, places, and things. Take a walk. Get a change of scenery. Find new people to interact with. Explore a new part of the city."

She was confused - she couldn't do that from the confines of the hospital. "I'm a little landlocked here, Doctor..."

He remained unfazed. "Caging a bird only makes it sing louder. You're an intelligent bird. I believe you'll find your way out of this cage."

She was too drugged to understand at the time, but it made sense later.

That evening she had dropped into a fitful sleep, the side effects of the sedative finally wearing off, but causing a vivid nightmare that woke her at nearly 1am.

Pacing the floor next to her bed, her eyes landed on a card that Doctor Lecter had left on her bedside table. 

The memories of their discussion came back piecemeal; he had warned her the nightmares would return, told her that he would help her work through them. To break the cycle, he told her about changing "people, places, and things".

Get up, go for a walk, change your scenery. 

The caged bird story... and then he gave her his card for "immediate access" as he put it. She didn't have a phone in her room to call him; what could he have meant?

She picked up the card and felt the smooth rich cardstock between her fingers, the embossed letters on the front with his office address and phone number.... and his home address written in neat penmanship on the back.

What else could he have meant by that? She made up her mind. Quietly, she slipped on her boots and layered up, then opened the window and climbed out, darting to the fence that she easily hopped. After stopping at a nearby payphone to call a cab, she found herself outside Doctor Lecter's home just outside Baltimore.

Her nerves nearly got the best of her, but she walked up the stairs and reached for his doorbell, ringing it and holding her breath.

After a few moments, a light came on behind the glass of the door, and a shadow appeared. The locks disengaged and the doorknob turned, and then she was face to face with the man himself, hair slightly mussed and eyes heavy with sleep. He wore a sweater and pajama bottoms, the scent of lemongrass and musk radiated off of him. 

He did not look surprised.

He merely spoke her name, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Hello, Sophie."

She shivered in the cold, felt the heat radiating from within his home. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

"The hospital called. Said you'd climbed the fence. Where else would a caged bird fly but to the familiarity of a safe tree?" 

He smiled kindly, their hidden secret. A wave of relief washed over her. 

He stepped backwards and motioned, "Come in from the cold."

She did as he said and closed the door behind her. As he led her down the hallway to his sitting room and sat her down on the couch, wrapping her in a blanket, she felt her anxiety melt away. 

His home was beautiful, a perfect representation of him. When they were both seated, he asked clinically, “What happened?”

"I had another nightmare,” she replied, fed up and exhausted. “I‘m afraid to go back to sleep."

He sat in the chair opposite her and listened, his face shifting to the clinically concerned mask he wore during their sessions; it looked strange to her beneath his mussed, just-woken hair and against his pajamas.

"You cannot anticipate your dreams. Can't repress them or shape them. But you cannot allow them to define your waking life."

"I wish there was a way to shut my mind down. I'm exhausted all the time and need to sleep, but I'm afraid of what I'll see when I do."

He considered what she said. "It is a catch-22: the nightmares keep you from sleeping, but the lack of sleep makes you more susceptible to them."

She shivered under the blanket. He stood now, walked to the cabinet in the corner and removed a bottle and two glasses as he spoke. "While there are more widely accepted methods of treatment involving specific doses of controlled substances under a doctor's care," he began as he poured out two glasses of deep red wine, "Might I suggest, just this once, that you instead join me in a nightcap to help clear your mind and get some rest?"

She smiled in spite of herself; it had been weeks if not months since she last had a glass of wine; she missed it so. "That sounds absolutely perfect," she confessed as he handed her a glass. 

"Well then," he remarked as he stood before her, extending his own glass in a toast, "To your good mental health." 

She raised her own glass to touch his and nodded. "Cheers."

He smiled; she caught something more besides happiness there. He looked like the cat that caught the canary. But then again, she realized with a smile of her own as she sipped her wine, so did she.

After enjoying the first sip in silence, he sat back down in the chair opposite her and took her in. "Do you feel you can be honest with me, Sophie?" 

She was struck by his question; he did not seem the insecure type. "You're the only one I can be honest with."

"Why do you say that?"

"Everyone around me seems to have an agenda.”

He gave her an inquisitive look. She decided to confide in him; after all, they had shared more than the usual doctor and patient already. 

"Doctor Bloom wants to be my saving grace, Will Graham wants me to forgive him for killing Garrett, and Crawford, well... it’s pretty obvious I'm not on his Christmas card list this year."

He smiled and sipped his wine. "You have a keen sense of observation."

She shrugged, sipped. He continued, "What do you see when you point that high-powered perception at me?"

She caught his half-smirk; he was fishing for her opinion. Thoughtfully, she replied, "I see an intelligent, articulate man. With almost zero pretense."

He laughed openly at her candor, "Almost!"

She laughed with him and sipped once more. He shook his head, "Quite astute, I must say."

As they calmed, he refocused his gaze on her. "It is true that I may not be entirely transparent when you see me interact with my colleagues at the bureau. There are parts of my life they will never see."

This took Sophie by surprise. 

He continued, "But I want you to know that I will never lie to you."

She tilted her head, "How familiar of you."

He shrugged, "Call it familiarity if you wish; I call it professional courtesy."

"Professional?" she repeated with an eyebrow raised slightly.

He was caught. He sipped at his wine and conceded with a nod, "Just a courtesy, then."

She smiled and sipped at her wine. He continued:

“You are an intelligent woman. You deserve nothing but the truth in all things, especially from me. I would consider anything less to be rude." 

"You hold rudeness above all other sins, don’t you?" she asked, interested. 

His face shifted. "Yes."

She had found the line, then.

By the time their glasses were drained, her eyes were heavy and her thoughts were sluggish; she would sleep very well, she could tell.

Doctor Lecter noticed and stood. "I believe it's time for you to return to the hospital now, little bird."

Anxiety flushed through her body at the thought. She couldn't keep the panic from her voice when she replied, "I don't want to go back there, I hate it there. That's where the nightmares happen..."

He saw her reaction and countered calmly, "The hospital is worried about you. They expect you back."

She was resolute. "Tell them I'm here. I don't care. I won't go back there tonight."

His face tightened, then relaxed. He took a step towards her and she stood to meet him. He looked down at her with a softness she hadn't seen before. It warmed her to her core. 

"You have to sleep in your own bed, Sophie," he said kindly, quietly.

His facade had dissolved. He was speaking with tenderness now. So she played into it.

"That's not my bed."

His brow creased; his dark eyes flickered. He’d made his decision.

"You’d like to trade one kind of asylum for another, then?”

The weight lifted from her chest at his response. He saw the relief on her face.

“Come,” he gave a nod with a smile as he turned. She followed him gingerly up the stairs, soaking in every detail she could; the art on the walls, the sketches on his study table, the pattern of the carpet, the sculpture in the hallway. When they passed his bedroom she dared to peek in and found he had a private fireplace.

He directed her to a spare bedroom down the hall from his bedroom, where she found a huge king sized bed with a balcony and private bathroom. It immediately felt like home. It was the first time she’d ever experienced a familiarity so soon like that. 

He disappeared and returned with towels that he placed in the bath, and an extra pillow and blanket from a hall closet.

She sat on the soft comforter, feeling safe and warm. Lavender and vanilla notes filled the air, a far cry from the scent of industrial bleach and stale cafeteria food she had gotten used to at the hospital. The plush duvet was nothing like the scratchy blanket they gave her, too. 

"You should have everything you need,” he began as he emerged from the bathroom and stood between where she sat on the edge of the bed and the door.

She nodded, "I do, thank you."

"Very well. I'll let you get some rest then. And if you find yourself having another nightmare, I'm only just down the hall."

A wave of warmth washed over her at the thought of him sleeping in his own bed so close to her, but she contained it and nodded. 

He smiled warmly and turned to leave. But as he did, she had a flash of boldness; she needed to know.

"Doctor Lecter?" 

She’d almost shouted his name as he approached the door. He stopped, tilted his head in response and took a few steps closer. 

It was now or never, she knew. 

"You killed Dean, didn't you?"

He paused and took a step closer to stand before her where she sat on the bed. His gaze was focused. But he didn't hesitate. 

"Yes."

The shock sent a bolt of electricity through her body; she knew, but hearing him say it was almost too real.

"How many people have you killed?" she asked quietly, never breaking eye contact.

His dark eyes glittered. "Many more than your husband."

Now the electricity vibrated within her; he was exactly who she thought he was. Her final question left her voice shaking: 

"Are you going to kill me, too?"

At this, his brow crumpled; how could she ask such a thing? She thought he might reach out and touch her; his fingers twitched. But he simply shook his head once and replied resolutely, almost breathlessly, "Never."

Though he had just said he would give her the truth in all things, she regarded him just a bit less warily now.

To emphasize his point, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear; she held her breath as his hand moved close, but sighed in relief at the warmth of his skin. He finished: "The world is more interesting with you in it, little bird."

She smiled just slightly now; while she would have to get used to the idea of what he did, something told her having him on her side was a good thing.

He gave her a polite nod. "Sleep well, Sophie."

He truly did mean what he said. She thawed and replied as he walked away, “You too, Doctor Lecter."

At the doorway, however, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, there is just one more thing..."

Framed by light from the hallway, all she saw was his silhouette. Her heart paused. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

He simply said, a hint of a smile in his voice, "No more climbing fences?"

Now she could recognize the smile on his face. 

She exhaled, a smile of relief washing over her face.

"I promise."

He nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving her to consider what had just transpired; what had she done by coming here? Would this open up her chance to share her truth with someone? 

This was going to be a truly interesting friendship.


	4. Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more personal between the good doctor and Sophie.

The next morning, she woke to the smell of baked goods drifting into her room and smiled - he had made breakfast?

She dressed back in her layers and walked into the kitchen to find Doctor Lecter standing at the oven in a crisp white button down shirt, an apron and a smile, plating a perfect platter of eggs and other breakfast goodies.

“Good morning, Sophie,” he greeted her as she came through the door.

“Good morning, Doctor Lecter,” she smiled, breathing in the delicious scents.

“I trust you slept well?” he asked as he wiped his hands on his apron and untied it from around his neck.

“I did, thank you very much.”

He glanced down at the plates he’d created and then back up at her. “You’re just in time, please: would you like to join me for some breakfast?”

And with that, Sophie was Doctor Lecter’s breakfast guest.

They sat in his luxe dining room, the early winter sunshine illuminating corners of the room and picking up the highlights in his eyes as he looked at her.

“They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he explained as he served an elaborate but beautiful plate of poached eggs, some kind of potatoes and a small piece of bread drenched in honey and walnuts.

“You certainly treated it as such - thank you,” she conceded with a smile, accepting her plate and waiting for him to serve himself.

They ate quietly for a moment, their conversation from the night before still bouncing around in Sophie’s head.

He murdered Dean. He witnessed a man offending her, being rude to her... and he murdered him for it. The thought was enough to make her head spin. How did she escape one murderer only to bump into another one? 

But something about Doctor Lecter’s murder didn’t turn her stomach like Garrett’s did. Garrett murdered women that looked like her to not have to kill her - because she was too special and no one could have her, even women that looked like her. His murders were acts of control, in the guise of love. 

Doctor Lecter, on the other hand, performed a public service. He had no pretense about why he killed: the rude deserved to die so the world could be a little more polite.

As she watched him and remembered the words he said last night - “the world is more interesting with you in it” - and how hurt he looked when she asked if he’d ever hurt her, she formed a question. 

“If you’re meant to be my psychiatrist, I have to ask: what should I make of the fact that I escaped a man who tried to kill me and bumped right into one who killed for me?”

He looked up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Dean was a sort of gift, wasn’t he?” He was so pleased with his own cleverness. 

Her heart skipped a beat at his words though; a gift? He truly meant it. Her face remained serious.

He returned to the original point with a thoughtful expression. “The dynamics are different, but I do see how it can cause… conflicting emotions.” He took a bite of breakfast with a smile and a glance at her to see if she found his euphemism funny. 

She couldn’t stop a light laugh. “That’s one way to describe them.”

He sipped his coffee. “Consider it this way: our connection was forged by circumstance. These circumstances will change as time passes, and eventually there will be no need for us to keep in touch if either of us wishes to part ways.”

She was troubled at the thought - she didn’t want Doctor Lecter out of her life, least of all because of their shared secrets.

“But what if I don’t want to part ways?” she asked, unable to hide her disappointment at the thought.

He examined her expression with half a smile and took a gamble, leaning in and saying almost conspiratorially: 

“I would never end your therapy - no matter how informal - without your consent.”

She watched his eyes and found the dark spark there that told her what he was really saying: neither of them was going anywhere. She smiled and took a sip of coffee.

“Good.”  
-  
Over the next few weeks, Sophie learned more about Doctor Lecter: he did not just despise and murder rude and disrespectful people - he ate them.

Free Range Rude, he called them. 

While Sophie had no desire to partake in his meals with him, pragmatically speaking, she thought it made perfect sense: by taking trophies from his victims and eating them, he was asserting his dominance over them. They were no more than food to him, cattle or pigs. 

And while he still served as her psychologist in a professional capacity during her recovery at the hospital, their relationship grew into something more familiar with each day. 

It had been a month since the incident, and Christmas was just a few weeks away. He arrived at the hospital with a package under his arm and a dusting of snow on his shoulders and hat - he looked like a leading man out of an old time movie. 

She smiled as he shook the snow off his hat and placed the package down on the table where she sat, chess board out for their daily game. 

"What's this?" she asked.

"An early Christmas gift. Open it." His dark eyes sparkled with joy - she couldn't remember seeing him so happy. It was contagious.

She smiled as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid of the dark box to reveal her gift: a beautiful crimson scarf made of the softest silk. 

It took her breath away; it was gorgeous. She exhaled as she lifted it from the paper and admired it, "Doctor Lecter, it's stunning, thank you..."

When she found his eyes once more, she felt a wave of heat course through her: his gaze was piercing. He smiled at her reaction, thrilled that she enjoyed it so much, but there was something else there... hunger, and something she couldn't quite place.

When he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper: "Try it on."

She turned to face the mirror in the corner of her room, and gently arranged the fabric around her neck, covering the ugly scar that still ran across the delicate skin there.

For a brief moment, she was reminded of that day - the crimson silk flowed around her neck like the blood that drained from her that morning - but as he stepped behind her to admire her reflection, she was brought back in the present.

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter," she said, turning to find him. "I love it."

He smiled warmly, "I'm so glad. I thought the color would bring out your eyes." They both looked in the mirror now - and discovered he was right. 

His smile reminded her of a wolf, but when she saw her own, she was pleased to see they were mirror images of each other.

A beat passed. He spoke. "What would you say to having our session at my house today?"

She turned to face him, "I don't think I'm allowed out after I jumped the fence."

He smiled, "I've made special arrangements. I thought you might enjoy if I cooked for you."  
-  
Later that day, after the meal was complete, they retired to his sitting room near the fire. He had brought out sketch books and art portfolios, spread them out on the floor before the fire, and invited her to explore as part of her therapy.

“I thought you might like to look at some art. A virtual trip to the museum,” he smiled as he took his place on the settee nearby. 

She looked over her shoulder with a smile as she sat, “That’s fun.”

She thumbed through the books, taking time to study each heavy glossy page, sipping at an after dinner cordial. When she paused on pieces she liked, he explained what each of them was. 

After she found a piece that she enjoyed very much, he tsked, “Ah, this is a good one. There is an interesting story behind this artist’s creative process, let me get the book...” he stood and paced before one of his many bookshelves searching for the right tome.

After finding it - “Ah-ha,” - he sat back down and opened the book, reading aloud as if it were story time. She was mesmerized. He read softly, his voice like honey. She sat before him, listening intently, feeling her eyes grow heavy with sleep after the heavy meal and the warmth of the fire. 

Almost as if in a dream, she pulled herself closer to where he sat and rested her head on his knee gently. 

His voice caught for a moment; he was surprised to find her there after being so focused on the book, but in the next instant he gently placed a hand on her head and began to stroke her hair softly as he continued to read. 

She sighed contentedly. His voice soothed her soul. Knowing that she held him in the palm of her hand as she curled into his leg like this, it filled her with immeasurable pride... and a sense of power. 

When he finished his story, he stopped, all at once, and she picked her head up to find him looking down at her with eyes full of hunger. “Please,” she said softly, almost begging him, “Don’t stop.”

His brow crumpled and his hand fell softly to caress her hair once more; he could not refuse her, even against his better judgement. This was dangerous ground they were treading. But he wasn’t afraid.

She smiled and turned into his hand like a cat, resting her head once again on his knee and sighing. 

They sat like this in silence for a few delicious minutes, until he spoke softly, “It’s time to go back to the hospital.”

Even as he spoke, she could hear he uncertainty in his voice. She never lifted her head back up; just spoke from where she lay, ignoring what he said, as if continuing a conversation she had been having in her head. 

“Some nights I dream so vividly about Garrett - about what he said he’d do to me - that I wake up screaming.”

She lifted her head now to meet his eyes. “Do you know how that feels, Doctor Lecter? To not even have a moment’s peace before you open your eyes in the morning?”

As she spoke, his breathing became uneven; she had ruffled his feathers, shaken his confidence. Good. She wanted a reaction, any reaction. 

“No, I don’t,” he said softly. His voice was filled with pain; was he feeling empathy? It felt strange to him, but he moved forward with it tentatively, as if walking into a dark forest without a lantern.

She stared into his eyes for a few more moments, daring him to speak. He didn’t. 

“I’m staying here tonight,” she said plainly.

Now he looked truly pained, “Sophie...”

She sat back now, pulled her hand from where it had rested on his knee and watched him wince at the sudden absence of her warmth. “I won’t go back. I can’t rest there. It’s like living in a fish tank.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off as she climbed onto the couch beside him, nearly begging now, “This is the only place I truly feel safe.” 

She looked into his eyes and down at the space between them, feeling her body go warm at his gaze.

“The case against you has been all but closed by the bureau. But the fact remains that while your case worker has said you’re making remarkable strides, you’re not cleared for release just yet,” he began helplessly.

She sat back on her heels and tsked. “Please. They’re only saying that to keep the Tattlecrime money coming.”

He was surprised to hear this. “Money?”

She snorted, “That rag pays for my secrets. Photos of me in surgery, in rehab, in group therapy. And that Freddie Lounds buzzes around my room like a fly. I’ve run out of ways to tell her to leave me alone...”

He squinted; the corner of his lip curled as if he smelled something putrid. This rudeness was news to him, and he would not tolerate it. “I can think of one more way,” he said, his throat tight with anger.

A-ha, she realized: she had found her in. Who knew the truth would set her free, literally. It warmed her to see him react so strongly. But she needed him to know where she wanted his attention..

“It’s not Freddie Lounds I need help with.”

He paused. “Are you certain?”

She nodded and sighed, “Yes. It’s getting out of that hospital.” She looked him square in the eye now; this was what she needed him to feel strongly about. 

He glanced down. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I will speak with your doctors.” He lifted his gaze once more and found her there, his expression resolute.

The corner of her mouth turned up. “I’m not asking you to rubber stamp me. But I can’t stay there any longer. I can’t sleep there. I won’t tonight. If you won’t let me stay here, I’ll go to a hotel if I have to.”

His brow creased, “There’s no need for that. I simply know that clearing the way for your release will be a matter of the bureau’s interest, not just my own.”

He spoke now as a confidant; softly, head tilted in tenderness, as if he ached to reach out and touch her cheek. “It may take some time, but we must first play by the rules in order to break them.”

She smiled softly at this. “I’m willing to put in the work if you are.”

He smiled as well. “Good. Now...” he sat back, “I think it’s bedtime.”

Her body went warm again - another night in his guest room. She couldn’t believe her luck.


	5. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In that moment, she knew that their relationship would be forever more complicated than she could ever imagine."

Not long after that, Sophie was discharged from the hospital and found a halfway house to stay at, as her home with Garrett had been all but rendered unliveable thanks to the murders he committed there; the kitchen still bore the bloodstains from the shootout where he died and she almost lost her life. And the mounting lawsuits from his victims would ensure that she’d never be able to live a cushy life in her old house even if she’d wanted to; the house was in his name and after it sold, every cent would go to paying the lawsuits of the families of Garrett’s victims. 

She was left with just some clothes and a few possessions she had salvaged from the house before putting it up for sale, and settled into life at the halfway house relatively easily. Everyone around her seemed to have other thoughts, though. With the media speculating about her involvement, her silence during her recovery only worsened things. She was unable to find work in the area because of her reluctant celebrity, and found herself desperate for some stability about a month into her newfound freedom.

The only thing that kept her grounded and stable throughout the whole transition period were her almost daily visits with Doctor Lecter at his lake house nearby. 

He continued to help her work through the issues that came with her circumstances, but now that their visits were no longer sanctioned and in a clinical setting, they took on a more familiar tone - which Sophie found that she liked very much. Along with involved discussions, their visits now included lessons on music and cooking and art.

He exposed her to opera and classical music, played the piano for her and taught her how to sketch to work through her feelings. His own sketches were truly beautiful. Once, they even spent an hour sketching each other one rainy afternoon. Where Sophie’s portrait of him was crude and basic, his rendering of her took her breath away. He told her she could keep it; it was the most beautiful gift she’d ever received.

Week after week they continued to meet every day, growing closer and revealing more of themselves to each other. 

One particular evening, Sophie arrived for her daily visit to find him listening to an achingly gorgeous piece of music - an opera - that stirred something within her.

He hung her coat and scarf - the crimson one he had gifted her weeks earlier - and busied himself with some snacks in the kitchen. As he returned with a tray of canapés and she took her seat in the chair across from his in the living room, she asked, "This song... why does it seem so familiar?"

He turned to face her where he stood at the stereo and smiled softly, without speaking. He was going to make her work for this one. Was it one she’d heard before? Had he played it? No, she would remember this one… She considered the tune, closed her eyes and focused. "I know what's coming, it's like I've heard it before, in a dream..." 

She opened her eyes and found him standing before her. “I played it for you in the hospital,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on hers in anticipation. 

The gesture touched her deeper than she could have expected; she felt a surge of emotion for him then, warm and familiar. It nearly took her breath away. “The hospital?” 

A kind smile spread across his face. "Every day."

Perhaps this doctor was much more than just a doctor, she thought, not for the first time. 

“What are they saying?” she asked quietly, listening intently to the melody.

His face softened; he was so pleased to see her interested. He turned back to the stereo and started the song from the beginning, then came back to join her. 

She watched with interest as he sat closer to her now, across from her, the coffee table separating them. She leaned in and he closed his eyes, translating as the duet began: "The chorus: 'And thinking of her, Sweet sleep overcame me.'" He opened his eyes and smiled at her with this.

She smiled; what a beautiful sentence.

The music continued and he went on, "Now she sings, 'I am your master. See your heart.' He continues: 'And of this burning heart, Your heart obediently eats."

Her heart swelled at the words he spoke - she knew they were translation, not his words, but they clearly had meaning to him. He would not have played it so often for her as she lay unconscious in the hospital if they did not mean something.

He continued as the music swelled once more, "She sings, 'Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.' And he: 'Joy is converted to bitterest tears.'"

His eyes filled with tears. Sophie had never seen him so overcome with emotion; it stirred something in her. Her throat tightened and she ached to put her hand on him.

He continued, his voice hoarse: "They sing: 'I am in peace. My heart, I am in peace. See my heart.'"

He focused on her as the music swelled to an end: "He asks ‘vide cor meum'. ‘See my heart.’”

Her breath caught in her chest and she blinked back tears. It finally dawned on her:

"It was you," she said, her heart tightening at the realization. "That morning in my kitchen... you were the one that saved me."

His eyes flashed - he had been found out. She felt the heat rise up her back and continued, "I couldn't remember who it was, but now... I can see you. Will was first in. He killed Garrett and froze, he just watched. Then you were there behind him."

She remembered every single moment now as if they were photographs, frozen in time. "You came in and wrapped your hands around my neck," she touched the scar there as she recalled those moments on the kitchen floor, the sound of her own blood splashing on the floor around her filling her ears. 

She felt dizzy. But when she looked up and found Doctor Lecter, this composed, calculating man; he looked stricken.

"You saved my life."

She looked at his hands - the hands that stopped the flow of her blood, held her veins and arteries closed so they could get her to the emergency room. All she could think was to ask one word: "Why?"

He had no pretense. "Because I was responsible."

She paused, confused, her face a question mark.

He steeled himself, sat up straight and spoke in crisp sentences. "I was the one who called your husband that morning."

Her eyes widened - he had been the call?

He continued, "It was supposed to serve as a warning: they are on to you, stop now. But I misjudged his mental state and the call sent him into a tailspin. One that had dire consequences for you."

Part of her felt angry at this truth. He was, in essence, the reason she was where she was.

"You... warned him?" she asked, carefully.

"As someone who also understands the pull of ending a life, yes." 

In that moment, she knew that their relationship would be forever more complicated than she could ever imagine. 

“Why?” she asked.

He continued. "I will not lie to you. I was curious what would happen.”

She contemplated what this meant. 

“He tried to kill me because of that call. Once he knew they were on to him, it was over,” she said, to herself.

He closed his eyes: he knew this. It was a pain he’d lived with since the day he made the call. “I feel a crushing amount of responsibility for you nearly dying that morning,” he said, ashamed. “I am in your debt for that."

Would she have not had her neck slashed open if he hadn’t called, she wondered. She wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t sustainable, what Garrett and Sophie had. His grip on reality had been fading and there was no doubt in her mind that he would have killed her eventually. 

“You were the spark that ignited his final madness,” she said, half to him and half to herself.

He looked up, interested. 

She continued, “If you hadn’t called, I would have walked out of that kitchen. But he would have followed through eventually.”

“The circumstances that brought us together were damned either way,” he countered, his eyes never leaving her. 

“The story of my life,” she replied with a wry smile.

When he spoke with others, his gaze was something he doled out sparingly; when he spoke to Sophie, however, he covered her with it. That fact swam to the forefront of her mind as she watched him think about his next move.

“The next chapter of that story does not have to follow the same blueprint as before,” he offered. Psychiatrist’s words coming from a confidante’s lips.

“It’s already taken a hard left; the money from the house is going to legal fees, and no one will hire me because of this cloud hanging over my name,” she recounted as she sat back in her chair.

He smiled; it was a strange thing to see given the topic of conversation, but this was no ordinary man. "Stay here with me.” 

He said it plainly, factually, as if it were the most obvious thing. 

She regarded him uncertainly. “You’ve done enough for me, Doctor Lecter. The halfway house is-“

“No place for a woman of your potential and intellect,” he finished her sentence with a serious smile. She returned it with one of her own.

He glanced at his tie as he straightened it and went on. “There is no need for you to re-enter the society that cast you out for your involvement with the Shrike," he said with a sympathetic tilt of his head. "They do not deserve you, after all."

It was Sophie’s turn to smile now, at his praise. He continued, "Live here, as my... 'research assistant'. And in turn, we simply stay in the business of keeping each other's secrets."

Her heart raced. This was an offer she never could have imagined, a gift unlike any other. Living with this incredible man, a man who had seen the depths of her psyche and embraced it when others had found it broken and unworthy... she took a breath and held it. “Yes.”

His smile broke across his face, teeth bared in true delight. He was ultimately pleased with himself. "Wonderful. This calls for a toast."

She smiled; he was truly something. 

He stood, tugged his sleeves back down and turned towards the bar; fastidious to the last, she thought as she settled back into the overstuffed armchair. His back to her, she watched him reach for a bottle of wine, two glasses and a corkscrew.

Making quick work of the cork, he spoke over his shoulder, "I know you prefer Cabernet, so I took the liberty of ordering a special vintage for you. Chateau Lafite 1865," he spoke as he expertly decanted and poured two glasses, then joined her. "I was saving it for Christmas, but I’ll never turn down a reason to celebrate."

She stood, accepted her glass, and let him lead. He raised his glass, "To new beginnings."

She smiled and locked her eyes on his, "Cheers." 

They toasted, sipped, and stared at each other as the first taste settled. Sophie noticed the dark sparks in his eyes picked up the tones of the wine and hummed as the liquid hit her tastebuds. It was divine. All of it.


	6. A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie moves in and adjusts to her new living arrangements.

Sophie arrived at Doctor Lecter’s house later that week with just a few bags - she was to live with him now, and looked forward to her new home.

After arriving, she found the guest room she had stayed in earlier had now been beautifully appointed. The huge queen sized bed rested at the center of the room and a private bath split off to the left. On the table near the window sat a new addition: a small shallow flower pot with stubby stalks protruding from it, a smattering of buds at its center, one blooming brilliantly.

She walked towards it and Doctor Lecter followed behind, carrying her largest suitcase. He placed it in the corner and spoke quietly, hands folded before him. "Lotus blossom. It is said to represent rebirth from a place of darkness."

She stared at the innocent bud. "Darkness," she said, touching her neck where the flesh was still new.

He breathed in, noting her discomfort. "I can remove it, if you wish?"

She shook her head, "No, not at all. I think it's beautiful.” She turned to find him and smiled, “It’s the perfect welcome gift. Thank you, Doctor Lecter."

His smile tightened as his eyes lit upon her scar. Self-consciously, she averted her gaze, trying hard not to cover her neck with shaking fingers.

Finally she looked up and he locked his eyes on hers. When he spoke, his voice was more tender than she’d ever heard: "A scar does not form on the dying." 

Her eyes flashed and he continued, "A scar says, 'I survived.' Remember that."

He had made such an effort; was so crushed to see her sad. It stuck with her, the idea that he cared so much about her feelings. She felt a pang in her core; a familiar stab of need that she knew from previous encounters but didn’t want to acknowledge, not yet. She managed a nod. "Thank you."

He nodded, pleased once more. "You'll find blankets and more pillows in the closet here, along with some things I thought you might like."

She opened the closet as he moved to the door and found a full wardrobe - it appeared her benefactor had good taste and wished to share it with her. 

"This is too much, Doctor Lecter...!" she turned to him with a smile of disbelief. He was so pleased with himself.

"Not at all. We've discussed many times how a new beginning is more than a mental state. It involves many things. And a new wardrobe, in your case, is one of them."

She thumbed through the clothes in awe: wrap dresses and chunky sweaters and soft blouses, even shoes. The tags were all still on them too, from designer labels. 

As she turned back to him, he nodded crisply, "I'll leave you to get settled now. You have your own private bath here, if you'd like to freshen up. Dinner will be ready at 7."

"Thank you, truly, Doctor Lecter.“

He smiled a half-hidden, self-satisfied smile and closed the door behind him quietly, leaving Sophie standing in the middle of this beautiful room, in this incredible house - she felt like she was living in a fairy tale.

In the few hours before dinner, she unpacked her bags, hanging the few shoddy looking sweaters and dresses she had salvaged from the house before leaving it for good. In the bathroom she found a whole host of toiletries and creams and cleansers - of course he would provide those as well, she thought to herself. He takes care of himself meticulously, down to his cuticles; why wouldn't he also provide her with the same basic amenities as well?

Not wanting to attend dinner in her current clothes, she decided to take a shower and freshen up. The huge walk-in shower was the ultimate in luxury, compared only to the claw foot tub in the corner. After toweling off and applying a perfumed cream all over her body, she slipped into a soft blue dress and black sweater he had left in the closet. All the clothes were from designers she’d only seen in magazines: Gucci, Prada, Dior... he had a vision for her, apparently. 

After putting a few curls in her hair and swiping some gloss on her lips, she smiled at herself in the mirror. Their sessions began with her in a hospital gown and bare-faced, but when she began to visit on her own after her release she had tried to put in a little more effort given her host. Now, as she looked at herself in the mirror before descending the staircase for their first meal together as housemates, she realized this would be the first time Doctor Lecter would see her truly done up. It was the first time she had dressed up since before the incident - months, even. 

She considered putting on the ballet flats she had arrived in, but after glancing in the closet and finding a beautiful pair of black booties, she decided to go all out and stepped into them. They gave her an instant confidence boost, and she couldn't wait to see him.

As she walked downstairs promptly at 7, she could hear the strains of soft chamber music coming from the kitchen. The dining room table had been set for two, candles lined the length of the room and the lights were dimmed. So this is what a dinner at Doctor Hannibal Lecter's house was like, she thought. After hearing so much about his cooking and party hosting skills from Dr. Bloom and Will Graham, she was almost jealous of what they had. But now she was about to get an even more intimate night with the good doctor himself.

She took a slow walk around the room to admire the art he had chosen to display in the dining room. One painting of Leda and the Swan caught her eye in particular - but as she heard him bustling behind the kitchen door, she realized she remembered nothing about table manners. A flush of panicked heat ran down her back but before she could do anything else, the swinging door to the kitchen opened and he came in with a serving cart, looking down at it with focus.

When he looked up and found her there, he froze, his face unable to hide the singular emotion he felt at the moment he saw her there dressed for dinner: awe.

"Ah," he said, recovering with a smile and a blush as he looked back down and steered the cart to the head of the table, "I am so happy to see you found something in the closet that pleased you."

She blushed - he truly did like what he saw - and thanked him. "It was so hard to choose, everything you've picked out is so beautiful. It feels like a fairy tale," she couldn't help but tell him. 

He smiled, gestured for her to sit, "Please. Dinner is ready."

After a delicious first course of salad and crispy fresh vegetables, he unveiled the main course: "A recreation of a dish off the menu at Le Bernardin in New York City. Sea Urchin with Tagliatelle and black truffle emulsion," he explained as he served her. 

They tucked in and she was blown away by the delicious flavors. As the music played, he asked good-naturedly, "You say this is a fairy tale, so tell me, Sophie: what princess do you identify with?" 

She laughed lightly, "Ah I don't pretend to consider myself a princess, Doctor Lecter."

He nodded, but remained silent, to allow her to continue. "But if I were pressed to answer, I would have to say I feel a kinship with... Sleeping Beauty." She finished, looking over her wine glass as she sipped.

His eyebrow raised; he was intrigued. "How so?"

She shrugged with a smile, "Aurora wakes up, finds a man at her bedside," she raised her own eyebrow and he smiled, "... he takes her from her tower, saves her from the people that want to harm her, and... they live happily ever after."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you believe you've found your happily ever after?"

She furrowed her brow, interested to see where he was going with this train of thought. "Wouldn't that mean that my story is over?"

A-ha. He’d found someone to really talk with. This pleased him. He sipped at his wine now, his eyes moving over her body. When he spoke, his words were laced with honey. "Not necessarily. Wouldn't you like to believe those characters' stories continued after their books ended?"

She tilted her head; he was not one for flights of fancy. “Who knew that Sleeping Beauty's happily ever after included chamber music and black truffle emulsion?” She sipped at her wine once more, and his smile said it all: he was impressed. 

As the night went on - and the wine flowed - she found herself growing more pliable and relaxed. 

When the conversation waned at one point, he held up a finger and paused - "Excuse me” - as he stood and disappeared into the kitchen. Sophie sipped at her wine and soaked in the music, her head swirling gently like the wine in the bottom of her glass. One more glass and she would be tipsy, but now she was just right: relaxed and happy.

He returned a few minutes later with dessert, and they indulged and talked some more. After they were finished, he asked if she’d ever waltzed before, and she admitted that she hadn't. 

With a smile, he invited her out to the sitting room where he turned on the stereo, placed the needle on the turntable and the strains of a waltz she’d never heard began. He turned and bowed politely, offering his hand and tucking the other arm behind his back, "May I have this dance?" 

He was an absolute delight, she realized. She curtsied with a small giggle and took his hand, "Of course!"

His delight played across his face as he slipped his arm around her waist and took her hand in his, then waltzed her around the room. She laughed with pure joy; she had never danced like this before, but he was so gentle and kind that he made it seem easy, as if she had been doing it her whole life.

As the music swelled and the room spun around them, the wine and his spinning turned their dance into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. When she focused on his face, the happiness she saw there absolutely transfixed her. Her heart felt as if it were going to burst with joy. 

"You dance beautifully," he crooned, eyes shining. Pressed against him, she could have melted into his arms. 

She smiled happily up at him, "It's all in the teaching."

With that, he smiled knowingly, tightened his grip on her waist and spun her in an even wider arc around his sitting room, past the harpsichord and between bookshelves, rapturous laughter bubbling up from her throat. As the music came to a crescendo and slowed to its end, he spun her once more and stepped out with a flourish to allow her some room, before dipping his head down for a gracious bow, and she curtsied in return. 

"Doctor Lecter, that was wonderful!" she said, breathlessly. 

Still holding her hand, he brought it to his lips gently and kissed, making her blush. "The pleasure was all mine. You are a natural," he said encouragingly.

What an introduction to life with Doctor Lecter, she thought.  
-  
Later that night, Sophie sat at the table near her balcony, writing in the journal Doctor Lecter had given her and preparing for bed. Just as she closed the journal and stood from the table, she heard a gentle knock at the door. "Come in," she called, making her way to the bed.

The door opened and there he stood, still in his impeccable suit, hair perfectly coiffed. 

"Ah, I see you found the robe," he smiled. 

She nodded gratefully, "And the nightgown, yes. Thank you." 

"I was about to retire for the night, is there anything else I can get you before I do?" 

He was so doting; she sat down on the side of the bed and shook her head, "No, thank you, I'm fine."

He nodded, pleased. "Wonderful. If you need anything else; you get hungry or bored or what have you, help yourself to anything. The stereo in the study downstairs has headphones, and there are plenty of books for you to read. This is your home now, and I want you to treat it as such."

She bowed her head with a gracious smile, “Thank you, Doctor Lecter, truly. You have been too kind to me, I don’t think I could ever repay you.”

He shook his head with a smile as he backed out of the door, “No need to thank me. The pleasure is mine, Sophie. Sleep well.”

And she did.  
-  
She woke softly, her eyes focusing on the wall opposite her - the slow realization of where she was dawned on her and she smiled. It was still dark, most likely only an hour or two had passed since she went to bed. 

An unexpected chill ran along her side. As she looked over her shoulder, she discovered that the blankets had fallen away from her - or had they been pulled away? 

Her thigh was entirely exposed and her backside was only covered by the panties she wore to sleep in under her short nightgown. Could Doctor Lecter have come in and...? No, he would consider that rude, she chastised herself. 

Although as she contemplated what that would have meant, she realized that she wouldn't have minded if he had come in while she slept. She was still riding the high of their first dinner and their dancing; she had caught herself at one point wondering what it would be like to kiss him and stopped herself almost immediately. Surely he didn’t feel the same. But if he did…

Suddenly a sound outside her door made her sit up abruptly and focus on the it: music. An opera - the one he had played for her in the hospital, and again a few nights earlier - drifted into her room under the crack in the door, and it brought a smile to her lips.

For a moment she considered going downstairs to join him. He was undoubtedly there at his stereo, sipping the last of his wine, his eyes closed in thought as the notes drifted around him. She closed her eyes and soaked in the music with him, then gently laid back down with a smile and a sigh. 

She was truly going to love living here.  
-  
To thank him for his hospitality, Sophie had selected a gift for Doctor Lecter that she couldn't wait to give him. 

It arrived a week after she moved in, and she pulled out the sleek black box tied with black ribbon as they sat at the dinner table after the meal was done one evening. As she handed it to him, he looked at her with a sideways glance, "A gift...?"

She smiled, "To thank you. You've opened your home to me, given me a second chance. This token is nowhere near enough, but it's a start."

He opened the box, the ribbon falling to the floor, and revealed a leather-bound sketch book. With a smile and sigh, he ran his fingers over the soft tanned leather and turned it over in his hands. "A sketch book... how very thoughtful," he said genuinely as he looked up at her. 

She couldn't take the wait any longer. "Look inside," she prompted quietly. He paused, confused.

There on the inside front cover he read the inscription she had requested: "For Doctor Lecter: May your hands create beauty forever."

He glanced back up at her with eyes shrink-wrapped in tears; she had only seen him this moved while listening to the opera he played for her in the hospital. 

"This is..." he began, overcome with emotion. "Thank you."

He stepped towards her and leaned in to kiss her cheek before he enveloped her in a hug; she felt herself grow weak in the knees at being so close to him. Her body responded almost involuntarily to his touch, and she feared that he would be able to read her thoughts about him, how she wished he would kiss her again, just let her kiss him back and feel those lips… 

His reaction was more than she’d expected; just like him. But so was hers.  
-  
Later that night she bundled up to step onto her balcony for some fresh air, late in the evening. Clouds covered the night sky, moonlight and the lights of Baltimore lighting up the sky in patches. Off in the distance, sporadic traffic moved across the bridge that rose from the water and snaked into the city.

Spending the week living with Doctor Lecter had shown her that she had underestimated her own interest in him. Being in closer proximity to him, having him dote on her like he did, it was confusing at first. She had viewed him initially as her doctor, who helped her through the issues that came with nearly dying at the hands of her murderer ex-husband. 

But, then again, she realized, he was never just a doctor. He was responsible for the attempt on her life. He had admitted to her his own secrets, just as she had shared her own with him. Their relationship was more than a friendship, but was it… even more than that? She lost herself in her thoughts and closed her eyes and breathed in the cool air, focused on the constant shush of wind in the trees and the faint drone of traffic on the highway. 

After a while, a gentle knock at her door shook her from her reverie. "Come in," she called over her shoulder. 

The door opened and she listened to his footsteps behind her; he paused at the balcony door. "May I join you for a nightcap?” he asked politely, holding a serving tray with two glasses of Cabernet balanced on it.

She turned, smiled. "Of course, Doctor Lecter, please," she motioned to the table on the balcony and he stepped out, placing the tray on it.

“Balcony-side service? This hotel is incredible." She smiled at him. 

He picked up his own glass and handed hers over with a wink, "We offer turndown service too. For a nominal fee."

Before he turned, his eyes alighted on the framed art on the wall next to the balcony door. He paused and smiled. "Is that my drawing?" he asked, head tilted.

She blushed a bit but nodded, "Yes."

He wordlessly returned to the balcony and stood beside her, suppressing a large grin as he looked down at his wine. 

Shyly, she explained, "It would be a shame not to display such a beautiful work of art."

Now he had something to work with, and he glanced back up with a witty grin. "The same could be said about you."

She blushed full-on now, anxious to change the subject. He, as usual, read the room and moved the conversation along smoothly. Placing one hand on the railing, he sipped at his wine and relaxed. "You are enjoying the view?" he asked quietly. 

She nodded and breathed in the cool air once more. "Yes, and the fresh air."

Respectfully, he stood next to her in silence; his warmth was reassuring. After a few minutes, he spoke quietly, "I have been meaning to thank you."

She turned to face him, finally breaking her gaze from the horizon. "What for?" 

It was his turn now to face the water, his own thoughts making him smile as he responded, "The company. I never realized how lonely it was in this house until you arrived. You brighten the very halls with your presence."

"The esteemed Doctor Hannibal Lecter, lonely?" she asked with a smile.

He thought for a moment. "While I do appreciate the beauty of solitude, I have found that I prefer having another heartbeat in the house."

She gave him a sideways glance and scoffed in mild jest, "Put that way, a cat would have the same effect."

He blushed: she had embarrassed him by catching him in a mistake. "Allow me to amend my statement: I prefer that heartbeat belong to you."

She smiled, pleased with his cover. They both turned back to watch the tiny headlights and tail lights blink in and out as they crested the bridge and disappeared over the horizon. After a few moments, Sophie spoke quietly. "It's the strangest thing: I spent nearly 30 years in Virginia, but it never felt like home."

"And what does this place feel like?" he asked, moving closer almost imperceptibly.

She never turned, just focused on the lights on the bridge. "Peaceful. Calm." She turned to look at him now, found his eyes already on hers. "Like slipping into a warm bath."

He seemed to look into her. His gaze felt hot. When he spoke again, he turned to follow her gaze and found the lights too. “Before the incident, with my practice, my hobbies... I believed I had it all." He continued to stare out at the distant stream of traffic. 

"Then along came you." He turned to her, a wide smile playing across his lips, "And I've never been so glad to be wrong."

She smiled beatifically at him. He continued, "Thank you. For showing me there could be such light in the world. For being that light."

She was touched by his candor. Her stomach did a somersault at his revelation. Perhaps there was more to this. The only way she could possibly show him how she felt was to say it. So she did.

"Thank you for showing me what home feels like."

Something in his face shifted - his kind smile faded to a more intense, searching look. He took a breath and held it, and when he spoke it was just above a whisper: "If I saw you every day, forever, I would remember this time.” 

She flushed at his words. She felt the same way; and had for quite some time now. She was simply in no position to speak the words that were in her heart for fear of ruining what they had. But now she knew.

"This is more than just a friendship, isn't it, Doctor Lecter?" she finally asked carefully as she looked back out over the harbor. 

His gaze joined hers. "I believe it is, yes."

While her eyes remained fixed on the bridge in the distance, her heart was beating at her chest like a bird trapped in a net. Confirmation. What would that mean? What did they do next...?

"You seem to enjoy the view of the bridge. Why is that?" he asked now, in psychiatrist mode. As always, moving the conversation along, always learning. They would explore their relationship later, she supposed. 

She considered it for a moment, then spoke from the heart: "I like knowing there are people out there, even though I can't see them. Each set of lights is someone on their way to someplace important, with their own life full of stories and memories."

He watched her as she spoke but she didn't turn to look at him until she finished. His brow was creased; he didn't expect such an answer. 

"People you will never meet, never know; it comforts you knowing they exist,” he mused. “Perhaps because you fear being alone?”

It was her turn to look at him in surprise now. He had worked through many of her issues with her through her therapy; it only made sense that he’d continue it here at his home.

She spoke slowly as she formed her thoughts. “I enjoy solitude, actually. In 12 years of living with Garrett, I lived in isolation.”

“He isolated you.”

“No...” she said, too sharply. He watched as she looked back out at the lights again and lost herself in them. “I isolated myself.”

He stepped back and sat in the chair on her balcony, nodding for her to keep speaking. So she did, as she followed the cars over the curve of the bridge and beyond the horizon. 

“Garrett and I had always been solitary people. But when his hobbies turned... deadly... I became an expert at self preservation,” she smirked at herself.

“He killed those girls so that he wouldn’t have to kill me. I was too special; the world didn’t deserve me, he said. So any woman who looked like me had to be erased. They would draw attention to me and I’d be taken away. That was what he told me, at least.” Her throat tightened at the memory. 

“And that morning... for the first time in our marriage, I realized he’d been telling the truth. Because when it dawned on him that he couldn’t kill them anymore - that he’d be locked up and I’d no longer be ‘his’ - he opened my throat. Right there in our kitchen.”

The memory replayed in her mind’s eye; she shivered at the thought of the blade against her neck. She took a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was thick with tears. 

“I don’t miss him. I miss... the idea of him. I miss what he could have been. A person that I could have confided in and trusted.”

After a few moments of silence, Doctor Lecter spoke softly.

“Trust and honesty are the foundation of any solid relationship. Yours and Garrett’s was built on something else.”

“Not really. It was good, in the beginning,” she said, almost too kindly. But even as she did, the bad memories started crowding out the good. All those happy times she’d recount, they were bookended by moments of terror and fear. 

“He was kind and loving until the moment he wasn’t,” he said quietly. 

She turned to face him and spoke plainly. “Until I brought this out in him. I turned him into this... monster.“

His face remained calm and kind. When he spoke, that clinical detachment faded slightly and the kindness in his eyes shone even in the dim light. “You didn’t create that monster. That monster lay dormant long before you arrived.”

“But did I spark it? Could I have done anything different to prevent it from coming out?” She knew he couldn’t give her these answers but it felt good to speak them out loud.

“Nature versus nurture does not apply here. Could you stop a storm from flooding a low-lying village? Or a killer whale from hunting seals?”

She remained silent and turned back to the lights on the bridge. He had a point.

He continued, “You could no more prevent that monster from awakening than you could prevent a wildfire from spreading with the water in a teacup. It was more powerful than anything you could have done - or not done.”

She appreciated his sentiment but it was hard to shake the guilt. “Maybe if we’d never met...” she began.

Doctor Lecter wasn’t having it. “What if’s are a fool’s errand. You cannot change what is done, but you do control what is to be done.” 

“And what do I do now?” she asked, turning back to meet his gaze with hers. 

His eyes were kind; joyful, even. His lips curled in a half-hidden smile. “Whatever you want.”


	7. Christmas Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie & Doctor Lecter exchange Christmas gifts - and something more.

Finally, Christmas morning arrived. When Sophie woke, she heard the sound of Doctor Lecter preparing breakfast downstairs. She slipped into a thick flannel robe and padded down the stairs, where the scent of rich coffee and buttery baked goods filled the air. 

As she entered the sitting room, she smiled when she found him entering from the kitchen with a tray in his arms, loaded with croissants and danish and mugs of steaming coffee. 

"Merry Christmas, Doctor Lecter," she said warmly. He smiled and placed the tray on the table, meeting her at the foot of the steps with a kiss on each cheek in greeting. 

"Merry Christmas, Sophie," he said, his voice cool and comforting in her ear. He motioned to the coffee and pastry, "I thought we would have a light breakfast here while we open gifts?"

"That sounds wonderful, that coffee is beckoning me," she said with a hungry look. 

He laughed lightly as they prepared their coffee and sat by the fireplace, where he had a crackling fire already burning. Curled up with their coffee, they chatted about Christmas memories, and she felt her heart swell as he shared his stories with her. He was not prone to nostalgia and didn't talk much about himself, so when he told a story about the first Christmas he remembered with his sister Mischa back in Europe, Sophie found herself completely wrapped up in his words.

Once the coffee was finished and they had devoured the pastries, he suddenly stood and extended one finger, an unspoken word: wait. She smiled - now was the time for gifts, and she couldn't wait to give him hers.

He disappeared into his study for a moment and returned with a sly smile on his lips and a small blue velvet box in one hand that he placed into her palm. 

She smiled generously at him - she could already tell this would be too much. But as she opened the box to reveal a small pair of pristine pearl stud earrings surrounded by a thin yellow gold braid, she gasped.

"Vintage Chanel," he purred as she admired them. They had to cost a fortune. She was speechless.

After a moment, she finally spoke, silently thrilled at the idea that he thought so highly of her to give her such a gift. "Why pearls?"

He seemed to expect the question and replied matter-of-factly, "A pearl is formed when a small object washes into an oyster. To seal off the irritant and protect itself, the mollusk creates the pearl: something rare and fine and admirable. Like you."

Her breath caught in her throat at his explanation. It was so poetic, so beautiful. Wordlessly, she looked down at the box in her hands. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "My pearl," then placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before sitting back and watching her with a smile.

She looked back up at him abruptly. This was unexpected in the best possible way. Since the moment they met, she had felt things for this man she never knew possible. Over the past 3 months they had bonded on so many levels that she sometimes couldn't tell where he ended and she began. She was afraid to call it love, but whatever it was, he felt the same.

"Doctor Lecter, thank you..." she began. Words seemed so utterly useless in this moment. "They're stunning."

He smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself. But she still had a gift for him.

"Alright, it's your turn now," she said. On a bookshelf nearby, she had hidden his gift in a slim box between two journals.

He laughed as she found it and came back, "Hiding in plain sight this whole time! You have truly outdone me!"

She laughed and handed it over, bursting with excitement. As he opened it, his expression shifted from confusion to complete awe as he took in the print she had found for him. He looked up, mouth agape. "Salvador Dali?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded: "Hand-signed. Dante and Beatrice, from the Divine Comedy."

He paused, surprised. She had yet to see this emotion cross his face and had to stifle a laugh of glee over surprising the most well educated, well prepared man she’d ever met. 

"Incredible," he practically exhaled.

"The opera you played for me, it's based on a Dante opera, isn't it?"

He stared at her with complete admiration. "It is. The very same."

She smiled shyly. 

"You've done some homework?" he asked, placing the print and the box aside and moving closer. 

She watched as he settled just inches from her. "I have."

He leaned in, his eyes searching hers. Her heart beat faster as he brought a hand up to her cheek and tilted her face to his. His eyes flicked to her lips and back up to hers. She knew. The cracking of the fire and the soft music he played all faded to white noise. All she heard was her heartbeat in her ears as he tilted his face and exhaled softly, his words feathering against her skin: "Thank you."

Instinctively she closed her eyes just as he placed his lips gently against hers for a soft, sweet kiss. Though it was a simple, chaste kiss, she marveled at how their lips fit so perfectly together - after staring at them for so long, feeling them so intimately was a dream come true.

Before too long, he pulled away softly. She found him watching her with hawks' eyes, gauging her reaction.

"You're welcome," she replied with a smile, causing him to smile as well: this was the beginning of something.


	8. Me and the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more complicated between Sophie and Doctor Lecter as time goes on.

Sophie ran through the woods, ran as hard as she could, yet it wasn't fast enough to get away from Garrett. He followed behind her, snarling and slashing with the knife. She tripped over roots and rocks as he moved ever closer. 

While she ran, the girls she lured into Garrett's web seemed to appear out of nowhere - from behind trees, under rocks, from within the river. They grabbed at Sophie, locked onto her arm or snatched handfuls of her hair. She yanked free, but each girl slowed her down, and soon she could feel Garrett's breath on her neck.

After she freed herself from the last girl, she broke into a sprint and screamed for someone, anyone to help. The roots she ran over now sprouted up to ensnare her feet, and she stumbled over and over again. The last snag sent her tumbling to the forest floor and knocked the wind out of her. She panted and spun, scrambled backwards as he advanced on her now slowly, stalking her.

She begged, pleaded, but it was inevitable. As he grabbed her by a handful of hair and yanked her up to her feet, she saw the blade flash and opened her mouth to scream one final time. But it was too late. With one last glint, the knife was coming at her just like it did that morning back in the fall. As the metal touched her throat, she screamed - and woke up still screaming, fighting against the bedsheets and sweating.

She shot upright and kicked at the sheets, the ghost of Garrett still clinging to her. Before she could make sense of it, the door to her bedroom opened and in strode Doctor Lecter, shirtless, his face a mask of clinical concern.

He reached out with one hand and cupped her cheek to ground her, to focus her attention, and spoke quietly as her screams turned to whimpers: "It's alright, you are safe here. Focus on my words: you are safe."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she found his eyes and stopped fussing. He brought his other hand up to cup her face and sat on the bed close to her. "The nightmares again?" he asked.

She panted and nodded, swallowed what felt like sand. "Yes."

He stood, poured a glass of water from the decanter on her bedside table. She accepted gratefully and he got to work untangling the sweaty sheets from her legs and re-making the bed around her.

"Come, let us get you a cup of tea." 

Downstairs, he placed her on a stool at his breakfast nook, and after filling the kettle and setting it on the fire, he leaned against his hands on the counter opposite where she sat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She rolled the tension from her shoulders and sighed, "Not particularly. But I suppose as my therapist, it would be irresponsible of you not to ask." Her eyes landed on his.

"I am no longer exclusively your therapist, but I do take a... personal curiosity, shall we say, in your mental wellbeing," he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a reassuring smile.

She raised a brow, "Isn't the term 'professional curiosity'?"

He gave a knowing glance. "I think we left 'professional' back at the hospital."

"I think you left it on my kitchen floor."

He paused. He did not expect that.

"It is true that I have had more than a clinical interest in your wellbeing from the moment I laid eyes on you; without it, I would not have done what I did that day," he said delicately.

"You would have let me bleed out in front of you?" she asked flatly. 

He was unfazed, "No. In every alternate timeline of that morning, I am covered in your blood with my hands around your neck."

His candor never failed to make her pause.

He continued, "But without my curiosity, I would not have gotten in the ambulance with you, or fallen asleep to the beeping of your heart monitor. I would not have stayed that night, and every night after that, until I was able to see your eyes again."

The tea kettle began its low whistle, vibrating on the burner. They didn't look at it, rather, their eyes stayed fixed on each other. She couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, even though she knew what they would do: "Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Doctor Lecter..." 

The kettle's whistle was now a scream... 

"You know how well it worked out for the cat."

At this, his smile grew to twice its size.

"I am no cat." 

Her skin prickled and she shied from his gaze with a smile; he won this round. He turned and flicked the burner off, pouring the water over the tea where it sat in mugs before them. She watched as the water changed color and the tea grew stronger. Without looking up, she spoke, "The girls I helped him kill. They were in my nightmare this time."

He glanced up and settled back against the counter. "They are new?"

She nodded. "I remember their faces but they've never been in my nightmares before."

After a moment and a sip of his tea, he spoke as he used to back when they held her therapy sessions in her hospital room. "You are coming to terms with your role in the crimes of your former husband. Remembering them, seeing their faces; it gives them the respect they deserve." 

"Well they certainly don't care if I respect them in this dream."

"What are they doing?"

She explained how they were a new addition; how they hindered her efforts to escape Garrett and ultimately contribute to her dream death. "They grab at me, scratch me and help him kill me."

"Like you believe you helped him kill them."

She looked up at him, stricken: he had nailed it. She knew it was guilt she was feeling, but not that it would manifest that way. "But I only did it because he would have killed me..."

He sipped his tea and continued, "Do you feel you should die for what you've done?"

She felt anger now. "Apparently. So I should die either way - if I said no and stopped helping him, he would have killed me, but since I did, I should pay for it with my life?"

He tilted his head, "His victims are merely projections of your guilt in this dream. Guilt is not a vengeful ghost like these girls. But it can still kill you if you let it."

She pondered that, sipped her tea. He finished, "You just said it yourself: What you did was an act of self preservation. You weren't aiding Hobbs, you were saving yourself."

What a clever way to look at the truth, she thought. "I was," she said, feeling slightly more at ease.

He continued, "There is nothing to feel guilty for. In fact, I am willing to bet that each one of those girls would have done exactly the same thing if they were forced into your position."

She shivered - his reassurance felt like it had dipped her in a warm bath and wrapped her in a blanket. "They would have."

He nodded as he finished the last of his tea and looked into her teacup, "Would you like some more?"

She shook her head and sighed, "No, thank you. I think I'd like to try to get some sleep now."

He obliged and walked her back to her room where he even tucked her in. She looked up at him from her pillow; when it was just the two of them, he seemed like a different person, she realized. Something in his eyes softened, his face relaxed and he smiled more. He sat on her bedside and looked down at her now with such warmth in his eyes that she practically felt it on her skin. "There you are. And if your nightmares come back, I'm only just down the hall."

She turned to her side and faced him, got comfortable. "Thank you. I think I'll sleep much better now."

He tucked some hair behind her ear. "I think you will too. Sweet dreams, my pearl."

When he stood up once more, she followed him with her eyes and said quietly, "Sleep well, Doctor Lecter."

He smiled and turned, closing her door behind him as he left. She sighed happily; having a live-in therapist was quite helpful, she thought with a smile as she drifted back to a dreamless sleep.

-

A week or so later, Sophie woke to the sound of distant thunder and lightning flashing around her bedroom: an unexpected storm had rolled in and was now quaking over the coast. Each gust of wind and every clap of thunder rattled the windowpanes and shook the walls. It was an angry gale, unlike any storm she’d seen before. Constant lightning flashed from all angles, it seemed to come from multiple storms at once. The thunder rumbled ceaselessly, lulling and roaring in turn.

She glanced at the clock: 2:53am. Hoping she could get a better view of the storm over the water, she slipped out of the bed and padded down the hallway in her sleep clothes of panties and a tank, lightning leading the way down the stairs and to the sunroom. A converted greenhouse, this was where Doctor Lecter grew his own herbs and spices; a beautifully-scented, always-warm glass room that sat at the rear of the house with a full view of the lake.

Lightning flashed from all sides as she stepped in and the wind shook the glass around her. She marveled at the way the room gave the effect of being outside yet safe from the elements, as the rain poured in rivers down the glass around her.

"The storm woke you as well?" 

She jumped - Doctor Lecter was seated in a chair in the corner of the room, half clothed, in shadow.

He stood, calmly, and stepped into the light. She forgot her embarrassment over what she was wearing at the sight of him in the dark like this; the lightning illuminated him with each barefoot step he took towards her, clothed only his pajama bottoms. He moved silently, like a shadow. She could see how this man could be fearsome and powerful. And it excited her.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, my pearl," he said soothingly as he met her. Since Christmas, he had taken to calling her that, and it still thrilled her every time he did.

"It's alright.” They both turned to face the storm. “It’s beautiful.”

He glanced at her. "It is."

They stood together and watched the show in silence. But she wasn’t focused on the rain. Since their kiss, all she could think about was feeling his lips on hers once more. And how confused that made her over what they had. 

His eyes, his hands, the way his neck curved into his shoulders; she found everything about him so erotic now, and couldn't focus on anything else. When they shared coffee at breakfast or shopped at the farmer's market, she found herself blushing at the thoughts that crossed her mind about him.

Now, as he stood bare chested beside her, heat radiating off him, she wanted him to take her right then and there. It was the only thought in her head. If she wanted it enough, she thought, if she focused on it with all her might, perhaps he could hear her thoughts and act on them...

As if he did just that, he tilted his lips to her ear and whispered, "A thunderstorm occurs when an air mass becomes so unstable that it overturns violently."

Her breath quickened at the sound of his voice. She followed him with her eyes, not daring to breathe as he stepped before her. With his fingertips, he traced gentle lines from her bare shoulder to her elbow and finished in a whisper: "From instability... comes beauty."

She sighed and closed her eyes; he was truly incredible. His warmth, his solid body so close to hers... a shiver of desire ran through her body and he saw it. 

"Are you cold?" he asked, knowing the answer. 

She glanced up at him with wanting eyes. "No." Lightning lit up the room.

He nodded once, knowingly, wordlessly. Thunder rumbled then crashed like waves on the shore. His desire-clouded eyes lit up with lightning from another direction, mesmerizing her, and then traveled to her neck. 

She flushed with heat and tilted her head in surrender as he brushed his fingers across her scar and almost in slow motion, leaned in as if he would kiss her neck. His breath flowed over the sensitive new skin and brought goosebumps to her arms. She was grateful for the noise of the storm, it masked the sound of her heart threatening to leap from her chest. Would this be the moment where everything shifted, she thought in a panic. What would happen when they crossed into this new territory together?

From his precarious spot at her neck, he caught her eyes with his and seemed to consider something - then moved to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before enveloping her in his arms, pressing her cheek against his bare chest. It was the first time he fully held her. 

It made her dizzy.

His heartbeat drowned out the noise of the storm raging outside and filled her head. She closed her eyes and brought her arms around his waist, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she’s been holding. Tucked into his arms safely, she breathed in the musk of his skin and soap and day-old cologne. Moments ago she had wanted him to ravish her, but now she found herself nearly shaking with the sense of completeness she felt in his arms. A simple embrace was much more tender and intimate than she expected; with Doctor Lecter, everything always meant more.

When she pulled away by inches to look up at him, lightning flashed in one direction and another, with thunder rumbling behind it. In his eyes she saw relief, tenderness, and even a bit of fear. This was a leap for him, too, she knew. 

So she simply placed her head back against his chest and wrapped her arms around him tighter; words weren’t needed right now. They knew the truth between them, and that was all they needed in this moment.


	9. Day is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares plague Sophie, but Doctor Lecter is there to help as best he can.

Garret stood behind her, pressing himself against her and panting, gripping her hair like he did that morning. They were back in the kitchen, the knife to her neck again. 

But this time, Lecter was first through the door. His face didn’t change when he walked in.

She cried out at the sight of him, which made Garret even angrier. The tip of the blade sunk into her skin and drew blood.

“No no no no no please,” she begged, eyes locked on Hannibal. 

His hot breath in her ear turned her stomach as he seethed, “Finally. It ends.”Was he talking to Sophie? To Doctor Lecter? She couldn’t tell.

She whimpered, frozen so the blade wouldn’t dig any deeper. Lecter took the opportunity to speak.

“Garret, you don’t want to do that.”

Deeper the steel went, just by a millimeter, bringing a squeal from her. “Please, Hannibal,” she sobbed, her movements causing the knife to move yet again.

Garret didn’t want to hear that. “You ‘please’ him? I’m making you mine now, perfectly mine...”

Lecter’s eyes flicked from the knife to Sophie, and she knew. 

But apparently, so did Garret.

As Hannibal reached for his gun - she didn’t know he had a gun - Garret slid the knife clean across her neck. It slipped easily through arteries and veins, the spray of blood flashing like rubies in the sunlight.

In the same instant, Hannibal got one shot in - bam - square between Garret’s eyes, dropping him.

Sophie collapsed on the floor in a pool of quickly spreading blood and watched helplessly as Lecter dropped his weapon and fell to his knees beside her. Gasping like a fish out of water, her heart pumped out more blood with each beat. Garrett’s face was inches from hers, his eyes dead and fixed straight ahead, staring at her without seeing.

All she heard was the sound of her blood splashing against the tile around her. It wasn’t fair, she thought. It wasn’t fair that she had to die. 

Turning away from the sick sight of Garrett with a hole in his head, she found Doctor Lecter. “Please,” she mouthed, unable to make a sound.

He was on her, his face never shifting from that mask of clinical concern he used to wear back in the hospital. His shirt and jacket were covered in crimson. Delirious, she repeated the word over and over, her lips forming it but no sound coming out: “Please please please...”

Her fingers, now slick with blood, fumbled uselessly at her neck to try to staunch the flow. She found his eyes and thought, absurdly, that he looked so handsome.

Gently he moved her hands away and placed his own large flat palm against the gash, effectively stopping the bleeding. But it was too late. There was too much damage already. 

Her eyes rolled once - she was fading. As her pulse slowed, distantly she recognized that as a bad sign. She snapped back and fumbled once more for her neck, unable to focus. Her hand flailed, never endings firing randomly.

He merely shook his head and secured his grip on her neck, those eyes calming her. “It’s alright, my pearl.”

She began to shake from the shock now. Panic in her eyes, she knew this was it. She was so cold all over, and when she tried to lift her hand once more to touch him, she couldn’t. Her mouth opened and closed almost on its own, like a fish on a hook; she gasped for air that wouldn’t come. 

His brow creased just slightly, the only emotion she’d seen through the whole ordeal, and that’s when she knew: she was about to die.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, her eyes closed one final time and she shot awake with a sob. 

Another god forsaken nightmare. 

She sobbed quietly to herself for a few minutes before getting up and going to Doctor Lecter’s room, where she knocked on his door and waited anxiously, knowing it would be alright once she could see his face.

Just as she began to second guess her decision, the door opened and there he stood, wearing just a pair of crimson pajama pants. The firelight coming from inside his room spilled out and lit up Sophie’s face, grateful relief washing over her like a warm bath.

The concern on his face warmed her immediately. "What have we here?" he asked quietly, as if her being there were completely normal.

"I'm so sorry to wake you, I just..." she wrung her hands and the tears flowed once more as she gushed. "Garrett killed me. I had a nightmare that Garret killed me. I died. I felt it happen and it was horrible. You were there and you tried to save me but you couldn’t and I... I just didn’t want to be alone, I...." 

Suddenly his hands were on hers, stilling them with their calm softness. She didn't realize until he was holding them - she was shaking. She met his gaze and peace washed over her at his kind smile. When he spoke, it was music.

“As long my heart beats, you will never be alone, my pearl."

She sighed in relief.

He smiled kindly, "Come in. Get under the duvet, you’re shaking.”

He turned down the sheets for her so she could climb into the bed gingerly. The fire blazed in the fireplace at the foot of the bed.

He spoke as he walked around to his side of the bed, still warm from where she had woken him minutes before. “Tell me. What happened in this dream?” 

The tears crept up as she spoke, “The memory of that morning played like I was living it all over again, every detail. But instead of Will, you were the only one there. Garret sliced me open and you shot him, and then you tried to stop the bleeding. I keep trying to speak but I can’t. And then your face shifts, and I know...” She broke down. He placed a hand gently on hers and she continued, “And just as my eyes close, I woke up.”

It shook her to her core to see these things happen again, to feel so close to death, even in a nightmare. It was too real. She sobbed. 

“This was a new nightmare?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded, unable to think straight enough to elaborate. All she could manage between tears was a plaintive, “Yes.”

“And it was as if you relived the entire episode?” 

Another nod. “I felt the knife, the warmth of my blood...” she sobbed at the thought of it. It turned her stomach.

Where he would normally launch into a minutes-long explanation of how dreams work, or ask her probing questions to get more insight and provide his own psychoanalysis, now he had no clinical recommendations to offer. 

It seemed the good doctor had finally been rendered speechless.

In response, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against him. He was so warm, so solid. After a beat, his voice rumbled against her as he murmured, “That’s terrible.”

She sniffled, her head on his shoulder. “Why can’t I just be normal again?” she asked helplessly, tears soaking his shoulder.

He sighed heavily and rocked her gently, stroking her hair. The warmth of his arms made her feel safe, finally. Her tears began to subside.

“I am truly sorry you had to relive this nightmare. I know it’s not much comfort, but know that you are safe now.” He sounded just as upset about this as Sophie was.

“I know,” she sniffed, emotionally drained.

He sighed, “While the scars of this incident will unfortunately take longer to heal than you think, I can promise you that I will help you with the healing.”

At this she looked up and shifted back into the pillows so she could take him in. “Thank you, Doctor Lecter.”

His smile was sad; he was genuinely upset for her. As he brushed some hair from her face, he murmured, “I am glad you’re here.” She returned his smile with her own small, grateful one. The way the fire flickered against his skin, it mesmerized her.

He moved closer and she watched him; they were about to take a step further. It wasn’t sexual, but being in his bed with him - she knew this was crossing a new threshold.

Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around her under plush midnight blue duvet and turned with him so that he could be the big spoon to her little one. Pressed against his chest, she felt complete. His warmth calmed her shaking, relaxed her shoulders. After sobbing for so long, she was entirely spent. Her body felt heavy, like her eyes. She let herself go limp in his embrace.

He continued softly, against her ear, “In some cultures, sleeping alone is said to invite nightmares; co-sleeping wards off the evil spirits that would otherwise threaten us on our own. And brings us sweet dreams.”

She breathed in deeply, finding peace in his voice and in his arms. His sheets were scented not with lavender like her own, but with his musk. It was intoxicating.

He stroked her hair thoughtfully. “But sweet or otherwise, dreams are just that: dreams."

She hummed. He continued, “And they’re not all bad. Tell me, my pearl: what pleasant things do you dream of?”

The answer came to her immediately, but she hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Having a home.”

His gaze faltered; he had not expected that. He pulled away. “Do you not feel at home here?” he asked, genuinely.

“Its not that,” she replied. “This is your home.”

He paused, unruffled, and spoke plainly, “This is your home too.”

She looked into his eyes.

“Our home,” he corrected himself. 

She considered his words and glanced away briefly. These were heavy words, with meaning. But he did not say them thoughtlessly. When she found his eyes again, they burned with intensity. 

“Our home,” she repeated, testing the words on her tongue.

The smile began in his eyes. “Yes.”

“For good,” she continued.

His smile only grew, his teeth now showing as he replied without exasperation, “Yes.”

She returned his smile, warm with the realization of what she had just learned. 

She had a new forever home, with Doctor Lecter.


	10. Tidal Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Lecter lets his mask slip for a moment.

Sophie lay tucked into Doctor Lecter's side, focused on the way his chest rose and fell under her hand while reflecting on their new normal. After a few nights of delicious co-sleeping, Doctor Lecter had insisted Sophie sleep in his bed for good now - and she wasn't about to disobey doctor's orders. 

But though they slept in the same bed every night, a tension still remained between them. They shared soft, chaste kisses on shoulders and foreheads, but simmering under the surface there was a hunger that Sophie knew she wouldn’t be able to control much longer. It was almost maddening to her; for a man who could speak at length about nearly anything, he was certainly reluctant to bring up any feelings of his own.

However, his physical way around her spoke volumes. While he was known for his restraint in public, he disregarded his usual need for personal space with Sophie. He displayed his affection more and more, and she reciprocated. He’d stroke her hair when he passed her as she read on the couch, or she would rest her head on his shoulder as they listened to music after dinner; they never went long without touching in some reassuring way. 

But still, she longed to kiss him once more, to feel his body pressed against hers; she only had to restrain herself and wait for the right moment, she told herself.

Now, as they lay in bed quietly, he spoke just above a whisper, voice rumbling in his chest. "Back when we first met, you said something that has stuck with me. About moving from one murderer to another.”

She looked up at him from where her head rested on his chest. His expression was guarded; he was broaching an uncomfortable topic but wanted the truth. She gently guided him, “I remember.“

He spoke as if he’d rehearsed his words, but watched her face as he did. “Do you see me as a murderer? A monster?”

She sat up and looked at him sharply, brows knitted. “Of course not,” she chided him. Her gaze lingered, an unspoken question: how could you ask such a thing?

She rested her head back on his chest. He was no monster to her. “Besides; ‘monster’ is relative. To a mouse, a cat is a monster.“

Apparently that wasn’t good enough for him.

”The things I do... would you call them evil?”

He wasn’t letting this go, she realized. It was time to dig deep for what he needed to hear. She glanced up again and replied, "You're not evil. You're destructive. Like a hurricane; a force of nature."

He exhaled through his nose; a light laugh as he stroked her hair absentmindedly. "Actually... you're more like a tidal wave," she mused, watching as his eyes focused on her. "You take over everything you touch and fill every crack, every hole, until all there is left... is you."

His eyes flickered; her words struck him. He didn't expect her to see through him so clearly. But he stroked her hair as he considered them and, after some time, replied. 

"In dreams, a tidal wave can represent the instability of our emotions in our waking life.” 

She took the chance to flip the script on him. "Are you feeling emotionally unstable, Doctor?"

His smile was strained; the patient had turned the tables on the doctor. "No more or less stable than the ocean itself, my pearl."

She had become an expert at reading his micro expressions; he was preoccupied with something, and hesitant to reveal it. She didn't smile. "You're good at many things, but lying to me is not one of them."

He froze, eyes locked on hers. He was caught. He allowed himself one moment, then replied. “I won’t ever lie to you. Know this. I only want to protect you from what I truly am.”

“And what is that?” she asked. Of all the discussions they’d shared up to this point, this one meant the most.

His face crumpled imperceptibly. 

“A tidal wave.”

She went warm all over - he was truly opening up now. But just as soon as he did, the mask he hid behind snapped back into place before another emotion could slip out. His gaze settled into the middle distance. The time for discussion was over. 

Discouraged, she rested her head back upon his chest. “In nature, destruction is good,” she mused. “It clears the path for new growth.”

His hand stilled on her head; she had struck a nerve. He hummed, the sound a rumble in his chest beneath her. “New growth...” he trailed off, intrigued. 

Slowly, his hand stroked her hair once more and he was lost in thought. She smiled softly; she had planted a seed for him to cultivate. It made her feel powerful.


	11. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for one of Doctor Lecter's famous dinner parties - will there be an after party?

Not long after his admission to Sophie, the time had come for one of Doctor Lecter’s dinner parties.

While she offered to help, he had assured her that he would be able to prepare everything with the help of those he hired; she was to remain upstairs and relaxing while he worked, only to come down when guests began arriving. He told her with a smile that he didn’t want to spoil the surprise, and she obliged him.

Dressed in a deep forest green cocktail gown with draped, beaded shoulders, she wound her hair in curls that she pinned over one shoulder, then finished the look with the pearl studs Doctor Lecter had given her for Christmas. 

As guests began to arrive, she made her way downstairs and greeted those she knew: Doctor Chilton from the hospital, Jack Crawford and Jimmy Price from the FBI. Others streamed in, bejeweled and bespoke: patrons of the orchestra and the art museum, even local celebrities and a Congressman and his wife. 

Sipping on her Cabernet for thirty minutes or so as guests arrived in a steady stream, she mingled and made small talk. At the stroke of 8pm, Doctor Lecter emerged from the kitchen to a soft ripple of excitement from the crowd.

She spotted him from the corner of her eye and couldn’t help the blush that spread across her cheeks; he was gorgeous. He had combed his hair back in an immaculate style and wore a new navy and green brocade three piece suit Sophie had never seen before - of course he had coordinated with her without her knowledge, she smiled.

She delighted in watching him as he made his way around the room, greeting his guests and making conversation as a good host should. The thrill she got from observing him without his knowledge, in his natural habitat, so to speak... it was delicious. It was as if she could pretend they hadn’t yet met. She fantasized about introducing herself; of impressing him with her knowledge of the wine he served and the music that he had hired the string quartet to play.

As he turned from one guest to another, he caught a glimpse of her and paused, his face frozen in awe - he must have liked what he saw. She gave a half-hidden smile which he returned with a small nod, and then she decided to play the game herself, turning to the guest to her right and introducing herself. When she glanced back over, Doctor Lecter had moved on as well.

After another half hour or so of passed appetizers and drinks, all in attendance were invited into the dining room where Doctor Lecter stood at the head of the table. Each person had a place setting - Sophie’s was directly to his right. The crowd watched as the servers unveiled each platter and serving tray on the table, and applause broke out. 

The food was something to behold. If she was impressed with the meals he served them both each night, this was an absolute feast. 

Over the applause, he spoke, “Thank you.” At the sound of silence, he finished, “Thank you all for joining me this evening. I am delighted to welcome you to my table. Let tonight be a celebration of all the best things life has to offer: good food, good drink, good conversation...” he glanced down at Sophie, “... and good company.”

She smiled at him with her eyes and gave a slight nod. He looked back up to the crowd and raised his glass, “Bon appetit.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd and the feast began.

-

After the guests had gone and the last of the hired servants cleaned up around the front hallway where the cocktail hour had taken place, Sophie found herself at the harpsichord with a glass of wine. Gently she tapped at the keys with one hand and sipped at her drink with the other, still in her gown and heels. 

Doctor Lecter emerged from the kitchen with a glass of wine of his own, looking sharp as ever, and smiled when he found her. She continued to tap out a melody as he paused and rested his hand on the top of the harpsichord, sipping his wine and savoring the delicate music she made.

When she finished, he knocked gently on the top of the instrument in praise. “I believe I may have found the ending of my composition, thanks to you.”

She smiled at him, “Congratulations on a wonderful party, Doctor Lecter.”

With this, he joined her, taking his place on the bench beside her and resting his glass on the floor. “Thank you, my pearl. I trust you enjoyed yourself?”

He began tapping out a melody of his own as she replied, “I did. It was lovely meeting your friends.”

He paused briefly. “‘Friends’ may be giving them more credit than they deserve,” he said with a smile.

“They smile like friends,” she reasoned.

“But beneath many of those smiles lie ugly deceit; they wear masks to disguise their truths.”

“You, however,” he said quietly, turning to face her and gently fingering a lock of hair before placing it back over her shoulder. ”... are absolutely breathtaking.”

She blushed.

He looked down at her gown, “This shade of green brings out the most striking blue in your eyes.”

He glanced back up at her. When she spoke, her voice was low; the air between them charged with electricity. 

“It matches the green in your suit, I noticed.”

He smiled at her observation, “You noticed correctly.”

She stared at him in return; the smokiness and rumble of his voice settled deep in her core and nestled warmly. Mixed with the wine, it created a throbbing intensity that only grew when their eyes met.

“Watching you tonight, I was almost able to pretend you were a stranger,” she said, watching his eyes.

He contemplated her words for a moment then replied, “There is a seductive pull in the unknown.” 

She nodded once. The room seemed to get warmer.

“How would you introduce yourself?” he asked, intrigued.

She gave him a half hidden smile, mulling his question over in her mind. “I would say... hello, Doctor Lecter. My name is Sophie. I’ve read your work on abnormal psychology, it’s fascinating.”

He was impressed and made no effort to hide it. “Thank you, Sophie. Psychology has interested me since I was a young man. But what I’m truly interested in is your background. Doctor Bloom tells me you have a real talent for writing, is that so?”

Now she blushed; it was as if they really were meeting for the first time. “I enjoy writing as a way to explore different parts of my mind, yes.”

It was his turn to flatter her now, “Creativity and self awareness of that magnitude are rarely found in such a combination. You explore parts of your psyche that others might keep hidden?”

“The doors I open sometimes lead to dark passages, yes. But there’s always a window at the end of the hallway. Or at the very least, another door.”

He smiled, impressed. “Tell me, what would you write about the hallways you’ve explored tonight?”

She glanced at his lips - she wanted to taste them so badly that she was certain he could feel the need radiating from her.

“These halls hold more secrets than I could write about over one cocktail, I’m afraid.”

His smile turned canine and his head dipped in concession, “If these walls could talk.”

Before anything could stop her, she tilted her head to his and neared his lips. Her breath warmed his skin. The electricity between them nearly caught fire. Finally he slipped a hand along her neck to cradle her face and kissed her, deeply. 

Their first kiss.

Sophie melted into it, grateful and euphoric. All the loneliness, the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all floated away, off of her shoulders and into thin air. He was perfection. His tongue worked lazy circles around hers, and the need that nestled inside her belly bloomed into a full-blown fire for him. Distantly, she realized that they weren’t alone when she felt eyes on them and pulled away slowly.

A waiter stood at the door meekly, not wishing to disturb them, but being too obvious about it. Lecter followed Sophie’s gaze to find their intruder, and smiled with a blush.

He stood to accept a rushed apology and finished the last of the evening’s tasks, sending the crew home for the night while Sophie remained on the bench, marveling at what had happened. A corner had been turned, for sure... and where they were headed next, she couldn’t wait to see.


	12. Sentire Cor Meum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party, Doctor Lecter gets an unfriendly visit; Sophie has a minor accident but learns that her new roommate is more helpful than she previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter is a direct rip from the show, but it was so delicious that I had to use it. 
> 
> Also, get ready for some slow burn smut, babies. *happy cannibal noises*

That night when Doctor Lecter joined Sophie in bed, he found her staring out the window at the dark night sky, her hair still in the curls she wore to dinner. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

She continued to stare out the window. “Was I wrong for letting Garret do what he did to those girls?”

Immediately his brain was alive and spinning. "Is a zebra wrong for being smart enough to escape the pride of lions, while leaving the other weaker zebra to die?”

"No. Of course not. That’s survival."

He shrugged, rested his head on a crooked elbow. "How is survival in the wild any different from what you had to do to survive living with Garrett?"

She looked back out the window, her mind wandering. This was the point of the argument where she always lost her train of thought. The anxiety remained although she technically had come to a conclusion, but she couldn’t trace it to its root. She tried to find the words but failed, shrugged. "I don't know."

He seemed content to let her think quietly for a moment, but her mind kept wandering. “I’m afraid I’ll have another nightmare." She looked straight ahead, unable to meet his gaze.

He traced a line tenderly down her arm, "The nightmares cannot hurt you..."

She looked out the window again, "I know, it's not really the nightmares I'm scared of, I suppose. It's the things in my past that they remind me of."

At this, he sat up to meet her eyes. "Your past is in the past. You cannot change it," he said matter of factly. 

She turned to look at him, her heart aching for him. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger gently, spoke just above a whisper, "But without your past, you would not have your present."

She smiled, his kindness making her anxiety melt. He settled back down into his pillow with an arm extended out, "Why don't you try to get some sleep? Things will look better in the morning after you've had a good rest."

And so she slipped back down under the covers and into his side, his warmth seeping into her skin where she placed a hand over his heart. He placed his hand atop hers so that she could feel his heart beat. "Feel my heart," he whispered, voice rumbling in his chest beneath her. "Sentire cor meum."

She glanced up at him - he was paraphrasing the opera he plays for her, Vide Cor Meum. He returned her look, took a lock of her hair between his fingers and caressed it. Her eyes grew heavy.

"Close your eyes, my pearl." His words were a whisper, calm and hushed.

She rested her head back down against him, felt his heart beat in her hand, breathed in his scent, and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, she woke and glanced over to where he lay, watching her in the soft gray morning light filtering through his drapes. He was stunning, she thought. His gaze felt warm on her, like a blanket. She smiled.

"You're awake," she said quietly. 

"So are you," he replied, voice husky with sleep.

"I was dreaming about funerals. I don't even know if Garrett had one."

He breathed in. A beat. "There was a small private service, yes. You were in a medically induced coma, however, and given the circumstances I don't think anyone would begrudge you for not attending," the corner of his mouth quirked.

She laughed joylessly, "How kind of them."

"Funerals make us more aware of our mortality; we crave intimacy in those moments when we fear death the most," he said thoughtfully.

"That's not why I'm here," she replied, almost defensively.

He had no pretenses. “Of course not. You are here in this bed for many reasons, but fear is not one of them," he trailed off, sidling up to her and bringing his hand to her cheek.

His face just inches from hers, she sensed their bodies charging with electricity and fought the urge to grind against him. She never took her eyes off his as she breathed out, “What reasons do you think I have for being here?”

He inhaled; the urge to melt into her was now a burning desire inside him. His dark eyes glowed with fire as he practically whispered, “The same as mine, I suspect…”

Slipping an arm around her hip, he pulled her into his body. She surprised herself by wrapping a leg around him, the question tumbling from her lips before she could stop herself, “Such as?”

He reciprocated, pressing against her - she could feel his growing excitement - and a flush of heat ran down her back at the thought of what was to come. Their kiss the night before after his party had started something that they were both ready to finish.

She glanced at his lips and her mind went blank just as it finally happened - he kissed her, and she was lost.

His lips were pillowy, soft like clouds. She sighed through his kiss, sliding her free hand up his chest. In response, he wrapped his hand around her hip and pressed even closer, their bodies burning - when suddenly, the doorbell rang downstairs. They froze. 

He groaned slightly against her lips, a disappointed sound. Without moving, Sophie sighed. He shifted back slightly, in no rush to untangle himself from her. The bell rang once more.

“The last time someone rang my doorbell this early, it was a census taker," he said with a wry grin. 

Based on his expression, Sophie could only assume the offender had gone well with a nice Montrachet.

With a soft kiss on her forehead, he brushed his fingers along her cheekbone and whispered, "I'll see who it is."

She nodded once, reluctantly. 

He slipped out of bed, leaving her to watch as he grabbed a sweater from a nearby chair, pulled it over his head and disappeared down the hall. 

The moment shattered, her body relaxed and she flopped into the pillows with a heavy sigh. She’d been so ready for him; she needed to catch her breath and focus on other things to calm down. But as she sat up, she heard him answer the door and listened to the faint strains of conversation. It sounded angry.

Quietly, she found his dress shirt from the night before hanging over the bedpost, slipped it on over the camisole and panties she wore, and made her way quietly down the stairs where she discovered: it was Jack Crawford. And he was angry.

“…And you’re sure you weren’t anywhere near the hospital last night,” he asked, his voice rising. 

"I assure you, Jack, I was here all night," Doctor Lecter said calmly. 

Jack replied heatedly, "Were you, Hannibal? You wouldn't happen to have anyone who can vouch for you?" He asked the question incredulously, as if he knew the answer.

At this, Sophie entered the kitchen and found them standing across from each other. "I can," she said clearly.

Both men turned sharply to find her there, and their expressions couldn't have been more disparate: Hannibal wore a calm smile, while Jack looked as if he'd been double-slapped by his own mother.

"Sophie, I..." Jack stuttered. She simply crossed her arms and stared back at him, her face a mask of calm anger. Doctor Lecter mirrored her expression and turned back to Jack as well.

"I was with Doctor Lecter all night, Jack,” she said, never breaking eye contact with him. “What are you accusing him of?”

"I'm not accusing him of anything, simply asking his whereabouts," he said, looking from Sophie to Lecter, who replied with disdain:

“That's not all you're asking, Jack."

Crawford looked ashen. Lecter turned his back on his guest and walked towards the front door in silence. His meaning was clear: Jack was not welcome here any longer. Sophie simply looked on as he glanced at her, then at Hannibal, and followed, out the door as he held it open for him.

As he closed the door behind Jack, Hannibal returned to the kitchen, his face a mask of anger. But when he found her there in his dress shirt and nothing more, his expression relaxed and his shoulders dropped. 

"I'm so sorry to have dragged you into this," he said as he drew close to her and traced a gentle line down her jaw. 

She looked up at him resolutely, "You didn't drag me anywhere. He," she nodded to the door, "is the one who should apologize."

His eyes flickered; he was so pleased to hear his own thoughts come from her lips, and with such venom too. When he spoke, she heard the pride in his voice. "He will, my pearl."

She smiled, content to be a trusted confidant of this incredible man. "Shall I start the coffee?" she asked, hopeful. While she enjoyed the power that came with being in his inner circle - sharing a bed with him - she still couldn't ignore the overwhelming desire to serve him and treat him well.

He looked at her with such tenderness; so thrilled to have fostered this insatiable appetite in her, but so ready to lay it all down to make her happy. "No, beautiful girl," he said quietly. She thrilled at this new nickname and he continued, "As much as I enjoy this bold sartorial choice of yours," he took the shirt collar between his fingers with a smile and she laughed lightly, "you must be cold." 

He caressed her hair and tucked it behind her ear, gently fondling the curls that sat over her shoulder, "Go warm up. I'll bring the coffee up to bed and we can wake up on our own schedule."

With a smile, she padded back up the stairs into the bedroom and was joined by Lecter a short while later, who returned with a tray of coffee and a smile. 

“What was Jack asking you about?” She wasn’t worried; rather, she wanted to know what exactly she was so mad at Crawford for. 

To his credit, Lecter did not pause or look for an excuse; he simply replied matter of factly, “There was an attack last night at the hospital. Dr. Abel Gideon was thrown down a flight of stairs, his back was broken and he was left for dead.”

She was shocked. “My god.”

He continued, “Jack thought that, due to my ongoing feud with the good doctor, I might be responsible for this latest development.”

Her expression said it all, so he continued as he poured two cups of rich coffee and slipped under the duvet with her once more.

“I can assure you, as much as I wish I was, I am not,” he said as he sipped at his coffee. “However, I am grateful to whoever took it upon themselves to do this.”

He had said he would never lie to her, and she believed him. She sipped at her coffee. “Who else would have a vendetta against him?”

“That I do not know. Much like his therapist Doctor Chilton, Gideon has... shall we say... a hard time making friends.”

At this, Sophie smiled and couldn’t resist replying, “Sounds like that happens quite often in the psychiatric field.”

He glanced at her with a wry smile and put his coffee down, and she knew she was in for it when he took her cup out of her hand and placed it next to his before climbing on top of her with a dark smile. Heart thumping against her chest, she tried to keep her breath under control as he dove into her neck and tickled at her ribs, growling, “I made friends with you, did I not?”

“Yes!” she shouted with glee as he brought endless giggles from her throat. 

His fingers worked their way around to her hips, “Excellent friends, in fact!” he exclaimed over her laughter. 

She pawed at his hands and managed to slip one hand around his neck to pull him close and reset the pace. He was warm against her, their hearts beating fast as they panted. “Not just friends, though,” she purred. 

He stole a kiss, brought a moan from her. “Much more, I think,” he said as he kissed her again.

She hummed against his lips. And they picked up where they’d left off before being interrupted, and kissed until their lips were raw. 

-

Later that week after dinner, Sophie washed the wine glasses delicately, careful not to tap the glasses against the edge of the marble sink. Mesmerized by the water and the way it pooled in the glass, she was startled when Lecter entered the room through he swinging doors. In her shock, she gasped and dropped the glass into the sink, shattering it into splinters. 

“No!” she shouted, so upset to have ruined his crystal. 

He rushed forward, “I’m so sorry, my pearl, I didn’t mean to frighten you, leave that…” he began.

She tsked and shook her head, “No, I’m sorry...” Without thinking, she reached into the sink and picked up the largest shard, only to have it slice easily through her palm. 

“Shit…” she gasped in pain and winced, dropping the glass as the blood welled up and spilled into the sink. 

“Ah, there now…” he murmured with concern. He was beside her now, one hand on her back and the other holding her wrist to examine the wound. “That won’t do.”

He gently lowered her bleeding hand under the water where he held it, blood mixing with water and washing away down the drain. With a tsk and a low sigh, his calming voice came close to her ear now. “There you are, see? Just a small slice, that’s not bad.”

She relaxed as he spoke, watching as the blood eased up slowly to reveal the wound, smaller than she’d expected. 

“If I may?” He moved gently with her wrist still in his hand, to stand before her and lock eyes with her for a moment, her hand dripping water and blood on the floor between them. 

She watched with trepidation - he wouldn’t - as he slowly brought her hand up to his lips, never breaking eye contact with her. Then, in a move so utterly surreal and erotic, he lathed his tongue across the wound to catch the little blood that clung there, and covered her palm with his lips to suck gently and stop the bleeding. 

She gasped, the sensation so incredibly jarring - the sting of the wound, the warmth of his tongue, the intensity of his gaze, it all made her head swim with desire. Before she could make sense of it, he suckled against her palm and made her breath quicken and her sweet spot throb. 

“Doctor Lecter,” she choked out his name; it sounded like someone had their hand around her throat.

He never let up, simply swallowed and burned holes in her with his gaze. It was almost lupine, the way he looked at her with his normally perfectly combed hair falling in those glittering dark eyes of his as he sucked and sent wave after wave of heat to her core. 

Her brow creased; he couldn’t keep this up, she wouldn’t last without throwing herself at him. She squirmed - the flood between her legs made it uncomfortable to stand now. She panted, practically begged him with her eyes to release her, it was all too much. 

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he unlatched his mouth from her palm and lowered it to show her: 

“See? No more bleeding.”

Chest heaving, she looked down at her now bloodless wound and back up at him as he licked his lips and swallowed with a satisfied smile. “Good as new.”

And with that, he turned back to the sink and left her throbbing for him as he reached down with gentle hands and collected the broken glass for the trash then left with a wink. 

He certainly wasn’t hiding his feelings anymore, she thought with a shiver and a smile.


	13. Actaeon and Diana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie gets a peek into the workings of Doctor Lecter’s day-to-day.

One night Sophie woke to an empty bed. After listening for the familiar rustle of Doctor Lecter in the bathroom but hearing nothing, she slowly climbed out of bed and found the house silent - and empty.

“Doctor Lecter?” she called as she walked down the stairs, tying her robe around her waist.

She received no response.

After checking the door and looking outside to find his car missing, she realized: he was taking care of business.

Instead of waiting in bed, she poured herself a glass of wine and put on a record. After her second glass, the sound of his car pulling up the drive set her heart racing.

She quickly stood and finished the wine, smoothed her nightgown out and pressed her lips together. She’d never seen him immediately after one of his... projects. The thought thrilled her.

But as the door opened and he walked in, she gasped. Half-drenched in blood, limping and broken, he was an astonishing sight; magnificent and solid, dress shirt clinging to his body and stretched across his broad chest. Blood and rain dripped from his cheekbone. His hair hung in his eyes, wet from the rain. When he raised his head to find her standing before him, his expression was unreadable. 

Immediately she felt an urge to touch him, to help him. “Doctor Lecter,” she gasped, the shock choking her, “Are you alright?”

At this, his lip curled in a small grin, revealing a split lip, and he replied, “Never better.”

Incredulous, she laughed lightly and moved towards him, as he took one step forward and stumbled slightly.

Catching him in time, she was soon covered in blood; his or someone else’s, she could not tell. Without speaking, she helped him up the stairs to the master bath upstairs where she ran a hot shower for him and helped him get out of his shirt. His wince as he pulled his arm out of one sleeve - and the gash and deep bruising around his middle - said it all; he had a broken rib, maybe two.

She stepped out demurely to fetch his robe while he undressed and stepped into the water. When she returned, her plan was to simply leave the robe on a nearby hook for him; but curiosity got the better of her and she couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him through the crack in the door.

He was stunning.

While she could only see from his hips and up, thanks to the solid paneling of the bottom half of the shower, she was mesmerized by the curve of his hip, the plane of his stomach, the way the muscles in his back and shoulders rippled as he placed an arm against the wall of the shower and leaned into it for relief, allowing the water to run red as it poured over him and down the drain.

Her fingertips glowed with heat at the thought of touching him. It sent a spike of heat to her center that caused her breath to quicken.

“Come closer, Actaeon,” he called through the steam, shocking her.

She blushed immediately and stepped away from the crack in the door to the hall when he continued in a friendly tone, “It is quite alright, my pearl. Have you never heard the myth of Diana and Actaeon?”

His voice was warm, gentle. He wasn’t angry. 

She stood at the sliver of light pouring from the door, unable to open it. He continued from behind the door, his voice inviting.

“The story says that the mortal hunter Actaeon stumbled upon Diana, the goddess of the hunt, as she bathed with her nymphs in a woodland stream.”

She pressed against the door gently, opening it enough for him to see her. There he stood, rivers of water pouring over him, bruised ribs and a split lip, hair slicked back and nearly clean. It took her breath away.

He continued, eyes locked on hers where she stood in the doorway. “Diana, in a fit of embarrassed fury, splashes water upon Actaeon, transforming him into a deer with beautiful antlers, and robbing him of his ability to speak.”

Similarly speechless, Sophie stepped forward into the room, drawn towards him and unsure of what would happen next.

His satisfied expression warmed her as he turned off the water and finished, “Actaeon flees in fear, but soon his own hounds track him down and kill him, failing to recognize their master.”

She stopped at the glass door of the shower, never tearing her eyes from his.

”Diana was a goddess,” she smiled. “Does that make you a god?” 

At this, he laughed. But did not respond. He merely placed a hand on the glass and pushed, letting a cloud of steam out of the shower with him as he reached for his towel.

She turned to reach for his robe. “You’ll need a stitch or two. Can I help?” 

His smile turned warm and grateful. “No, thank you, my pearl. This will be a quick fix, but one best performed autonomously.” 

“Let me get you a glass of wine to numb the pain, then?”

He grinned with a hum, “Hmm yes - or better yet, vodka. Neat. This is going to hurt. And be sure to get one for yourself, it’s bad luck to toast alone.”

She smiled and turned, pleased she had a job to do. When she returned with their glasses, he had half dressed in pajama bottoms and sat at the edge of the tub with the medical kit nearby, needle in hand. 

He took his drink with his free hand and raised it to Sophie, his eyes dark and focused: “To you.”

She took a sip of her drink and watched as he took his drink in one, two gulps, then placed the empty tumbler on the floor.

Before she could react, he looked down at the gash at his rib and with almost frightening precision, stitched himself back up neatly, without even a change in his breathing.

Unfortunately, Sophie didn’t take it as well. A wave of heat, then cold rushed over her and she inhaled sharply, unable to catch her breath. Nausea set in next. 

He finished and glanced back up with a smile, saying simply, “There. All better.” But his face fell when he saw how pale Sophie had gone.

As the light faded to a pinhole, her tumbler slipped from her hand and shattered into a thousand sparkling splinters. She tried to speak, but all that came out was, “Sorry,” and she crumpled.

When she came to, she was on the floor of the bathroom, back resting against the wall, with Doctor Lecter hovering closely nearby. The sensation of a wet washcloth shocked her awake with a gasp.

He sighed in relief as he wrung the cloth out in the sink nearby, “Ah, thank goodness. I should have waited until you were cleaned up and in bed to take care of my own injuries, I am sorry!”

She shook her head, still dizzy, “It’s alright. I’ve never been good with blood, you didn’t know.”

He smiled and gently finished washing the blood from her arms and shoulder - “All mine, you’ll be relieved to hear,” he assured her - and helped her stand on wobbly legs. 

“This won’t do,” he tsked, taking in her bloody nightgown and weak knees. He ushered her to the bedroom where he had her wait while he retrieved a fresh nightgown for her. 

Once she was warm and dry again, she couldn’t help but ask as he started a fire in the fireplace at the foot of the bed: “It’s interesting you chose to tell me the story of Diana and Actaeon, don’t you think?”

“How so?” he asked, playing along, climbing into bed next to her pulling the blanket over the fresh bandages around his middle.

She found his eyes with hers so he knew she was serious. “If I were Actaeon, you would take away my voice and let me be torn apart?”

“Never.”

Her expression must have given away her skepticism in his response, so he continued, “The forbidden gaze has long fascinated me. In fact, if you’ll allow me this indulgence, I dare say I find it romantic.”

At this, she warmed. “Romance in the forbidden,” she mused.

“Yes,” he countered, “A glance can be a dangerous thing in the world of Latin lyric poetry. The first line of the first of Propertius's love elegies: ‘Cynthia was the first to capture me with her eyes’. To capture. Isn’t that delicious? The idea of a look taking someone, as if to own them with a gaze. To possess them.”

He looked at Sophie now, drank in her entire body with his own gaze. It felt warm.

“In my version, of course, the punishment is not as severe as the one suffered by Actaeon,” he smiled, wolflike. 

As much as she wished to focus on the discussion at hand, her mind was preoccupied. 

“What happened to you tonight, Doctor Lecter?”

He thought for a moment, then, remembering his promise to never lie, spoke resolutely. “A particularly difficult project, I’m afraid.”

She looked at him uncertainly. He continued, finally allowing her in. “The night guard at the train station was rude to a fellow passenger last week. I felt if he wasn’t able to mind his manners, he shouldn’t be allowed to use them. Unfortunately, he was a bit more prepared than I had anticipated,” he concluded as he glanced down at his bandaged ribs and motioned to the butterfly bandage closing his split lip.

Sophie’s brow creased. “You did... finish your... project?”

He smiled now, “Of course. Simply sustained some minor injuries.”

“Minor? You scared me half to death when I first saw you.” 

He tilted his head, “I assure you, I was not in any serious danger.”

Her stomach still clenched in anxiety at the thought of him being seriously injured. It pained her. She had to tell him. 

“If anything were to happen to you, I would be lost.”

He froze, his expression shifting from flippant to serious. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. And he didn’t expect her to lay it out so plainly. But the fear and vulnerability she felt at the thought of him in harm; at having to face the world without him? It was too great.

His eyes searched hers, warm in their darkness, as his hand came to rest on her cheek tenderly. He whispered, “I am truly sorry, my pearl. Concern for my actions’ effects on another person has never crossed my mind. But...” 

He was suddenly speechless. He realized the gravity of the situation in that moment and couldn’t work through the emotions. She covered his hand with hers, stroked his soft skin. Finally finding words, he spoke softly, “You have given me so much more than companionship, you realize this, yes?”

She nodded seriously. 

Now he moved to sit up straighter and look at her fully. With a wince as he shifted, he spoke clearly, quietly. “You’ve given me a reason to think beyond myself, and to see that there is light in the world. And your eyes...” 

She nearly held her breath. He’d never felt so exposed but so complete. She brought this out in him, and it terrified and excited him in equal measure. His voice cracked slightly as he finished his thought: 

“In your eyes I see possibility. And hope. Thank you for giving me hope.”

Sophie nodded, unable to speak from the lump in her throat. This was certainly more than a friendship, she knew now.


	14. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie has a run in with a "fan" of her husband's work and Doctor Lecter comes to her rescue.

“I’ll be fine. I’m simply meeting an old boss for a glass of wine at a quiet bar, nothing but locals there looking for happiness in the bottom of a beer mug,” Sophie said as she gathered her purse.

Unruffled, his voice cool and smoky, Lecter tilted his head to her and stepped back to allow her access to the door, “If you say so, my pearl.”

“One hour. Ninety minutes at most,” she reassured him.

His lips pulled into a tight, reluctant smile. “Until then,” he conceded, and placed his lips on her forehead for a gentle kiss before she stepped out.

After a nice drink with an old colleague, she walked out of the open door of the bar and into the humid evening air, the sound of men talking and the scent of cigarette smoke growing stronger as she moved past the small group of smokers nearby.

Hitching her purse over her shoulder, she shifted her keys in her hand as she heard the men stop talking. One mentioned her - she couldn't be certain which one, but they all laughed lightly and she heard two try to stop one of them as he apparently left the group.

She didn't dare turn, just kept her eyes forward and picked up her pace slightly. She was about 30 yards from the car when she heard his voice ring out through the humid air: "Hey sexy, where do you think you're going?"

Ignore him, she thought - ignore him and in two minutes you'll be in the car. But he didn't like that. 

"Hey! Little Shrike! I'm talking to you!" Footsteps now, faster, running for her. She slipped her key between two fingers and walked even faster, when suddenly a hand on her shoulder spun her like a top. 

She shouted in surprise - he was strong, too strong - and swiped at him with the key, "Leave me alone!" 

This only angered him. She stumbled backwards and fell hard, the wind knocked out of her. He advanced, grabbed her wrist to yank her to her feet and twisted, snarling, "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to ignore someone who's trying to pay you a compliment?" 

She tugged against him and flailed with her other arm, keys falling out of her grip. He yanked her so that one arm was pinned behind her and grabbed her from behind with his other hand at her throat. She choked out a gasp, tried to yell but couldn't, and moved to kick him - it all happened so fast. But as his hot breath filled her ear and he mumbled something about teaching her manners, a figure moved towards them from the shadows and she felt a wave of relief wash over her: he was here.

"Excuse me," Lecter said, loud enough to be heard by the attacker, but not shouting. His expression was as calm and satisfied-looking as if he had just finished a delicious meal.

This new third party seemed to throw her assailant off and he faltered, just enough for Sophie to break free and run, towards Lecter as he strode forward past her.

"Who the fuck are you?" the man slurred, lunging for her rescuer. 

That was a mistake. Lecter barely moved, he simply continued to move forward and met the man, turning with him as if he were trading places with him. Suddenly the attacker fell to the ground, blood spurting from his neck and into the grass.

She didn't even see the blade he used, but heard the slick sound it made as it sliced through the artery, and her breath caught. She didn't scream; she knew better. 

As if he were lifting a sack of potatoes, Hannibal simply grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him across the gravel. The gurgling sounds that came from the man as he bled out faded to silence as they both disappeared into the trees.

Thats when Sophie realized: the river ran through that part of town, and the current washed quite quickly this time of year; he was getting rid of the body. She stood, panting, all the possibilities now racing through her head. But before she could get too panicked, a few moments later he emerged, walking straight towards her, his face serious. He reached into his jacket for a handkerchief and slipped the blade into his pocket, neatly wrapped, not a drop of blood on him. 

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” he asked her urgently, stopping before her. 

She was dumbfounded, shocked, from fear and adrenaline. She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

With a nod, he extended a hand for her keys, and they walked the last 15 yards to her car where he unlocked the doors and they climbed in. He didn’t seem convinced. But they needed to get out of the area. 

In seconds, he had pulled out of the parking lot and up the hill for the 15 minute drive back to his house. His breath hadn't even quickened. Not even a bead of sweat on his brow.

She shook from fear and worry. She had upset him. Hadn't she? He had warned her that her face was too recognizable; people in towns like this are too easily convinced of lies they see in the news.

"I'm sorry," she said, weakly. Her voice shook.

He turned, his hawk-like eyes suddenly warm and sympathetic, "For what?" 

She was confused. "For not listening to you. It was a bad idea to go out in public. You were right."

As they neared an intersection, blinking yellow lights overhead, he put the car in park and turned to face her. Voice like silk, he spoke reassuringly. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, my pearl." 

She breathed easier - at least he wasn't upset with her. In fact, his eyes looked almost... fearful? Red-rimmed? But that man...

She shrank in her seat. She did not want to ask, but had to. "He called me 'Little Shrike'. Is that what they call me?"

His brow creased and his lip curled; it was is if he had smelled something foul, tasted something rotten. Disrespect was intolerable to him. But he did not lie to her; lying would be just as rude. "Yes."

He had done such a good job of shielding her from the news, immersing her instead in art and music and literature. Hearing this hurt, but not as badly as she’d expected it to.

"Is that all I am?" she asked, staring out the windshield.

He didn't miss a beat. "To the public, perhaps. But that is not the truth."

She took him in, this man, her protector, her avenger. His eyes never moved from hers - and yes, she realized: he was stifling tears. Over what? 

He spoke clearly now, “You are a complex woman with a past and a future and a mind that is wide and deep as the ocean. You are extraordinary."

At this, she shook her head and looked back out the window. “I’m just lucky you think I am."

The corner of his lip curled in a wry grin. "I see I have some more convincing to do," he said as he put the car back into drive and moved through the intersection. 

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his low hum as he finished his thought, "Yes, tonight I will show you just how extraordinary you are."

When they returned home, he held the door open for her and spoke as she shed her jacket and bag, "How does a bath sound?" 

She turned, “Delicious."

He smiled, pleased with himself, and nodded, "Wonderful. Get comfortable and I'll pour you a glass of wine and draw your bath. Lavender oil, I think."

She did as he instructed, slipping into a plush white bathrobe and padding down the hallway into the master bath where she found him perched on the edge of the tub. Shirtsleeves rolled up, hair falling in his eyes, he tested the water temperature. Hearing her enter, he turned and stood, "Ah, here you are." He met her with two glasses - one for Sophie and one for himself. As she took hers, they clinked and sipped, savoring the flavors. 

After a moment, he realized he was in the way, and stepped aside with a sweeping arm, "Please, I'll leave you to it. Before the water goes cold."

She paused, reached out to hold his arm and keep him from leaving. "No, please... stay. I'd like the company." Her smile was not suggestive - on the contrary, she truly meant that. The encounter with the man in the parking lot had ruffled her and her anxiety was high. 

His brow creased; he nodded, "Of course." He turned to give her privacy and she slipped into the steaming water. Her muscles released instantly. When she was settled, he turned back and smiled, sheer tenderness on his face. He sat on the edge of the claw foot tub opposite where she rested her head, wine glass in hand and her robe in his lap. She sighed and reached for her glass as well, sipping and relishing the moment. 

"That man, the one in the parking lot," she said over the rim of her wine glass. His eyes alighted on hers, begging her to continue. "You killed him so easily."

He regarded her for a beat, then spoke as he studied the liquid inside his own glass. "He was a pig. It's only right he died like one." His eyes finally landed back on her. They asked a silent question: don't you agree?

Perhaps it was the wine, or the bath, but a wave of pleasure washed over her; the thought of him regarding her so highly, taking that man's life because he attacked her, it stirred something in her. He’d given her Dean as a gift back in the hospital, but this was… more. 

"It seems we keep adding to the list of secrets we share, Doctor Lecter," she said with a small smile as she sipped her wine.

His face warmed at her words - he loved that she still called him that, and he chuckled lightly. "Our truths are far more interesting than anything someone could possibly dream up, aren't they?"

"That is true," she conceded with a nod as she shifted in the water.

His gaze shifted to her body under the surface and he seemed to catch himself; he glanced away and sat up straighter, "Perhaps you would like your hair washed?

She paused, eyebrow cocked. "Yes?" 

He smiled and stood, took another sip of his wine and placed the glass on the vanity, found the shampoo from the cabinet nearby and pulled the vanity stool behind her where she rested in the water. 

She watched him with a hidden smile and as he took his place, looked up at him and found him upside down. He reached into the tub gently and cupped his hand into the water, bringing it to her head as she tilted it back. He repeated the motion a few times, and the warmth of the water as it soaked through her hair brought a shiver to her shoulders.

He hummed happily, "Is it warm enough for you?" 

She sighed and closed her eyes, "Hmm yes. Thank you."

He paused to fill his palm with shampoo and gently worked it into a lather, massaging her scalp and bringing a relaxed sigh from her lips. Silently he massaged, working his nimble fingers in small circles and making her tingle. Then he began to rinse away the lather with handfuls of water and gentle massage. After a few minutes of silence, his whisper filled her ear: “Did he hurt you?"

Without opening her eyes, she sighed, "No... I... not really, no.” She was frightened, and the way he attacked her had brought back many unpleasant memories, but she hadn’t had time to process her feelings just yet.

"Hmm. Did it frighten you to witness his murder?"

She contemplated, spoke thoughtfully, "No. I'm familiar with what you do so well." She smiled and opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her tenderly. 

He cupped some water in his hands to clear away the last of the lather and stroked her cheek as he brought his hands back to her neck where he massaged gently to finish her bathing. 

After a few moments, she spoke again, tentatively. "It did make me wonder, though..."

He hummed inquisitively.

She found his eyes with hers and asked earnestly, "Could I ever do something that would make you do that to me?"

He paused, his brow creased. Suddenly he stood, arms dripping, and came around the side of the tub. She sat up and followed his gaze as he moved, uncertain, as he crouched down next to her, his eyes level with hers, and cupped her cheek with a strong hand.

When he spoke, it was without a hint of pretense. "There is nothing you could do that would make me even entertain the thought. Nothing.” He was short of breath. “Do you... the very idea, I...” he was completely tongue tied.

He focused and finished, resolutely, “If anything were to happen to you, the world would stop spinning.”

His eyes burned her. His voice shook.

“Words would lose their meaning. The sky would fall."

His eyes searched hers and caused her breath to quicken. He continued, quietly, "As long as my heart beats, I will never, ever harm you. Do you understand?"

She nodded, mesmerized by his intensity.

"Say you understand."

Her words came out as a whisper: "I understand."

His shoulders released at this. He dragged the pad of his thumb across her lip, trailing drops of bathwater. The gesture was so erotic; a spike of heat stabbed through her core. She exhaled and felt herself grow pliable in his hands, eyelids hooded with desire. He leaned in slightly and suddenly his lips were on hers. 

His kiss was needful. She sat up in the water and reached up with a wet hand to tangle her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as his tongue slipped into her mouth, urgent and insistent.

She wanted to feel him everywhere in that moment; did he want the same thing? Fortunately, he kissed like he did everything else: with such skill that Sophie forgot where she even was. She couldn't focus on one thought for more than a split second as their tongues continued to dance. 

As he deepened the kiss, the throbbing in her core intensified and a small moan escaped her throat; this would only end in one way if they didn't stop now, she knew.

To allow him to decide what to do next, she broke away, still gripping his hair and panting against his cheek. Eyes locked on his, she exhaled, "I think I'm done with my bath now." She wanted him to read her thoughts: take me out of this bath and ravage me.

But his dark eyes were hooded, pupils blown wide with desire. His breath came quickly too, his hunger plain on his face. For the first time, Sophie was unsure of what he would do next; passion made him unpredictable.

"Of course," he gasped, struggling to regain his composure. He sat back on his heels and stood, suddenly polite and almost robotic. "I'll leave you to it, then," he remarked with a nod, before he turned on his heels and left the room.

She hesitated, opened her mouth to protest as he moved, even managed a weak, "Doctor Lecter, wait-" as he closed the door behind him; but it was no use, he couldn't hear her.

What had happened, she wondered. Had she ruined a perfectly ripe moment? Clearly they both wanted the same thing, didn't they?

After getting dressed and braiding her hair, she emerged into the hallway and heard his music playing downstairs. There he stood at the fire, his back to her.

"Doctor Lecter, I'm sorry if I wasn’t clear," she began. He turned and made a face. 

"Don't be silly, you have nothing to be sorry for." When he spoke, she could see the mask he wore, slipping. Living in close quarters with him, she had become almost too familiar with his moods and expressions; this one said he was uncomfortable, almost embarrassed.

He avoided her gaze, stared back into the fire instead. She continued, "Your mask may work on others, Doctor Lecter, but I see you."

At this, he looked back at her sharply. She smiled kindly. She didn't want him thinking it made him weak; on the contrary. "You don't need to wear the mask for me."

His expression softened, the mask slipped, and he was back with her, wholly and completely. "You are the only one on this earth to see me," he said tenderly. 

Sophie took a few steps closer. "I'm the only one you've allowed to see you," she said as she met him and felt his heat.

He watched her, "And what you see does not frighten you?"

She shook her head, "It makes me feel alive.“ He dared to reach out and stroke her cheek. She spoke quietly now, "Where you end, I begin.”

Now his eyes warmed, and he glanced at her lips as he replied, "Our lines have blurred, haven't they?"

With heavy eyes, she nodded. "I was never good at staying in the lines."

His full grin and light laugh revealed sparkling teeth as he relished her retort. When he glanced back down at her, he cradled her head with his hand and drew ever closer. "And I prefer watercolors."

And with that, he took her smile over with his kiss, and enveloped her in his arms. 

His kiss was deep and plush, like falling into a featherbed at the end of a long day. A shiver ran through her and he broke away reluctantly to look down at her. “Shall we retire?”

She nodded. 

Later, as Lecter lay in bed, Sophie sat at the table near the window, writing, while the fire crackled at the foot of the bed. The evening’s events had her mind spinning, and she wasn’t yet ready for sleep.

“The artist draws from her personal experience to create her art.”

She glanced up and found him laying on his side facing her, head resting on his hand as he watched her thoughtfully. 

She smiled in return, “I wouldn’t call it ‘art’ as much as it is art therapy.”

He shrugged, “Just as well. What does this therapy bring you tonight?”

Putting her pen down, she stood and took her place next to him in bed. “The helplessness of being physically attacked stirred... something in me,” she began carefully, working through the feelings as she spoke. He listened quietly as she continued.

“The last time I was touched like that, against my will... it was exactly how Garrett held me that morning. I couldn’t move fast enough to get away, and I’m disappointed in myself for that.”

Now beside him, she finished speaking and looked down at him, almost ashamed to meet his eyes. But he found them.

“There is no shame in feeling like a victim, you must-“ he began. She flinched and cut him off. 

“‘Victim’; I hate that word, it makes me feel so weak!”

Now his interest was piqued. He sat up entirely, shocked at her outburst. 

She apologized, “I’m so sorry, please.. forgive me. I just...”

Carefully, and with such honey in his voice that she was forced to pause and stare, he replied, “There is nothing to forgive. I am sorry for using this word.” He looked deep into her eyes, his own burning with intensity. “You are no victim, of that I am certain.”

She listened intently as he continued, “You are stronger than iron.” His voice cracked as he finished, “Stronger than steel.”

Her brow creased at this tiny break in his facade.

His eyes filled with tears as he explained, “Before tonight I had never considered the safety of another to be of any importance; those around me either lived or died, and anything in between was no concern of mine. But seeing you in danger tonight...”

He trailed off, his throat catching at the last word, and looked away. With a short cough he cleared his throat and found her eyes once again as he spoke with meaning, “The world stopped spinning.”

He was quoting himself from earlier in the evening. “I thought the sky would fall.”

She reached out and caught his tears on her fingertips. 

“Just the thought of losing you was more than I could bear,” he finished quietly. 

If his emotions for Sophie were confusing before, there was no doubt now; this was deep and true and endless. 

Words were trivial now, she knew. So she slipped down into his arms under the covers and buried her face against his chest. He responded by holding her tightly and breathing in the scent of her hair, tucking her head under his chin. His warmth seeped into her and relaxed every muscle. 

He whispered, “I promise not to let anything like that happen to you again.”

She traced lines with her nails along the hair at the nape of his neck. “I believe you.”

After a few moments, his voice rumbled in his chest as he recited, “Proust said, ‘I have built, deep in my heart, a chapel filled with you.’”

She pulled away by inches to find his eyes and found him taking in the details of her face. 

“I could never understand this sentiment. The idea of giving so much of oneself to another, it was foreign to me,” he said.

Sophie knew what was next:

“Until you.”


	15. A Night at the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Lecter treats Sophie to a night at the opera... and so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You waited so long for the smut I promised in the tags like 14 chapters ago, and here it is... hoo boy here it is. 
> 
> Enjoy!

As Sophie sipped at the perfectly brewed rich coffee Doctor Lecter had prepared for them, he glanced up from his paper and asked lightly, "I wonder if you might enjoy a trip to the opera next week?"

She looked up, thrilled, "That sounds lovely, yes. Which one?"

"Dante's La Vita Nuova,” he said, gauging her reaction.

"Ohh that would be incredible, yes," she smiled as she put her mug down and leaned over the counter across from him. 

He was pleased. "Good. I'll get us tickets. It's currently running in a limited engagement at La Teatro alla Scala in Milan."

"Milan?" she asked incredulously.

He leaned in and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear tenderly. "Milan," he said matter of factly, with a half smile. 

She responded with her own smirk: "Perhaps you can teach me some Italian before we go?"

-

Thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean they soared on their way to Milan for Sophie’s first real taste of the opera, in plush first class seats, sipping champagne. 

She glanced out the window at the fluffy white clouds and blue ocean outside. His soothing voice in her ear gave her a gentle thrill: "This time tomorrow, we will be on our way to one of the oldest and most treasured opera houses in Europe," he said. 

She smiled gently and looked down, "I can't wait."

As she turned to meet his gaze, she felt the heat rise in her core; his eyes saw right through her. He smiled, settled back in his seat. "I almost forgot: I've made an appointment for you at Valentino this evening," he said with a sideways glance.

Her heart skipped a beat: Valentino? "Oh... that's so kind of you but I couldn't possibly accept such an offer," she began. 

He simply stated, "Absolutely not. As the fairy tales have taught us: a special evening calls for an extra special gown." He closed his eyes as if to say he wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary. And when he opened his eyes again to meet hers, it was a fact. She smiled kindly.

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter."

He thrilled at that; he loved when she used his full title. "The pleasure is mine, my pearl."

-

The next day, after she’d finished dressing for their night, she stepped out of the bedroom and found him waiting in his tuxedo, looking as dashing as ever. His dark eyes lit up as she moved towards him.

After all the times he took her breath away with gifts and thoughtful gestures, she was finally able to return the favor. When he spoke, he sounded as if he had just run up a flight of stairs and could only exhale: "My God."

She blushed. "I know you love red," she said as she spun gently for him to see the full outfit, with its backless plunge and flowing two-toned crimson and red panels. 

When she stopped, he was there, a gentle hand at her hip to steady her, a hungry look in his eyes. "Not even Dante's own Beatrice can compare. The most beautiful woman to ever attend La Vita Nuova."

They were in for an interesting night, she could tell. 

-

After a three hour opera and more than two hour dinner, their car pulled up to the hotel well after midnight. Lecter slipped out first to open Sophie’s door for her, extending a hand to help her out. 

Once in their suite, he closed and bolted the door behind them, and when she turned and found him there with that same hungry look in his eyes from earlier in the evening, she knew.

"Would you care for a nightcap? Limoncello?" he asked as he removed his scarf and tuxedo jacket to remain in suspenders and dress shirt. 

"That would be perfect, thank you," she said as he helped her shrug out of her cape. She felt his heat as he slipped the two-toned red fabric off her shoulders and folded it delicately over his arm. A brief moment passed between them, and then he was gone once more, moving to the bar. 

She joined him there, watched as he rolled his shirtsleeves up and expertly served up two glasses of liqueur. “This is a beautiful suite,” she remarked. 

He handed her a glass and raised his own for a toast. “I’m glad you like it, my pearl. I wished for your first trip to the opera to be a memorable one.” 

They clinked and sipped. “Oh it most certainly has been,” she said, sipping her cordial. After placing her glass on the counter, she undid the pins holding her hair up. It tumbled over her shoulder in loose waves and she shook them out. "It's a shame for you to have wasted your money, though," she said.

He finished his drink and moved around the bar towards her, eyes locked on hers. “What do you mean, waste?" he asked, curious.

She watched his eyes for his reaction as she replied, “Why reserve a suite with two bedrooms when we'll only use one?" 

The fire in his eyes sparkled and the corner of his lip curled into a hungry grin. He closed the gap between them with one swift stride and stopped just inches from her. She didn't flinch.

Though he didn't touch her, Sophie felt his gaze heavy upon her as it traveled from her eyes to her neck and shoulders, down to where a necklace dipped between her breasts. As he looked back up to meet her eyes, he exhaled, "I'm sure we'll find a use for both bedrooms, my pearl."

She smiled: the game was on. But she wasn’t about to let him have all the fun.

Emboldened by his words, she turned and looked over her shoulder at him with a wink, then walked down the hallway and into the master bedroom. Silent but focused, he followed her. Once they stood at the bed, he paused for a moment before her, as if taking a mental snapshot of he moment. 

Finally, he ghosted his fingertips over her skin as if his touch would turn her into gold, trailing his fingers to the zipper at the back of her gown where he tugged gently. As he undid the button at the back of her neck, the red fabric fluttered to the ground at her feet and exposed her to him. 

She didn't dare move; simply stood there in her lacy panties and high heels. He stepped back around her and took her in as if he were admiring a painting. So she did the same to him. 

He stood half a foot taller than her, broad shoulders straining against the crisp white dress shirt he wore tucked into perfectly tailored black tuxedo pants, black vest contrasting against the pristine white of his shirt. A flush of heat rose in her neck at the thought of his body beneath his fine clothing. 

As his dark eyes traveled over her body, the slight curl in his lip indicated he enjoyed what he saw. Her fingertips glowed with heat; she wanted to touch him so badly. 

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with need: "For too long, I've wanted to know how you taste," he breathed. 

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back; just hearing him say the words was enough to send a spike of heat to her sweet spot. Doing so exposed the smooth expanse of her neck to him, and he took the invitation with pleasure.

She stifled a gasp at the touch of his lips, warm and soft along the sensitive slope of her artery as it throbbed with her heartbeat under her skin. 

Bringing a hand up to rake through the hair at the nape of his neck, she sighed, "Do I taste how you imagined?"

He raised his head to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide with hunger, and replied, "I haven't begun to taste you yet."

His malevolent grin set her off; she couldn’t wait any longer. She grabbed his collar and he watched intently as she undressed him, removing his vest and dress shirt, loving the look of him half undone before her. 

Wasting no time now, she brought her lips to his and kissed him deeply. A soft grunt of pleasure escaped his throat and she knew she had him. His excitement twitched against her as he pressed her backwards into the bed.

Suddenly, he broke away and took her in, breathlessly, then he held up one finger as if to say “Wait” and slipped off the bed. She cocked an eyebrow at him; this wasn’t good.

But when he stripped down to his boxer briefs, making her mouth water at the sight of his body, she realized what was happening: this was very good. 

She smiled devilishly. “Sono molto affamato,” she sighed: I am so very hungry.

His eyes flashed; he had taught her basic Italian before their trip, but this was nearly too much for him. 

With a wicked smile, he crawled back into the bed like an animal on all fours, taking her over and slipping a hand between her knees to slide between them. “Pazienza, cara mia,” he growled: Patience, my darling.

She reached up with both hands to run her fingers through his hair and scraped her nails down his bare back. He leaned in to plant kisses on her neck and along her collarbone. He whispered, so close to her ear, “May I taste you?” 

She twitched for him - so ready, so pliable. “Please,” she exhaled.

Finally he moved down her body, placing kisses along her stomach before he peeled off her panties to drink in the sight of her entirely bared to him, ensconced by pillows and the plush Italian cotton duvet.

Slowly he slipped his hands between her legs to nestle there, his face just inches from her now sopping wet heat. Eyes closed, he breathed in her musk deeply, as if savoring the notes of a vintage wine. The anticipation made her stomach swirl.

Finally, he wrapped a hand around her thigh and pulled her closer, and then his lips were on her. After the first gentle kisses made her gasp, he slowed his movements and lapped at her as if he were starving, hot breath flowing over her scorching skin. She shuddered at each new sensation as he worked around her center and finally dipped within to fuck her with his tongue.

She called out to god in a moment of pure pleasure as he dove deeper and twisted his face slowly to apply delicious pressure to her clit. She was unmoored, like a feather in the breeze, completely lost to him. His stubble scratched the sensitive skin when he traced lines up and down her folds. 

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he paused and looked up, nose buried between her legs. When he pulled away, his lips glistened with her excitement; she had never seen anything so erotic. He practically purred, “You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever tasted, my pearl.”

Sighing in ecstasy at his words, colors swirled before her eyes as he ducked his sleek head back down to her waiting heat where he lapped with an eager tongue. He reached up to massage her breast where she squeezed his hand tighter around the sensitive flesh. He hummed against her, sending vibrations into her core.

Her release wasn’t far off now. She trembled now, whispering and panting. With renewed hunger he dove in, his dark eyes meeting hers and urging her to cum for him; he wasn’t going to rest until he had completely and thoroughly pleasured her.

And that exactly what he did, when he moved to slip two fingers inside her while he sucked on her clit, sending her reeling. She shook against him as fireworks burst before her eyes and she cried out his name; he latched onto her and rode her climax with her, humming encouragement. 

After he had worked her into a puddle, her head swimming in pleasure, she desperately tried to catch her breath and pulled him up to her face to taste herself on his lips. Now she was hungry for him, and needed to taste him immediately.

With a hum against his kiss, she reached down between them and wrapped her hand around his hardness. In response, he thrust into her hand with a soft grunt; his restraint would only sustain him so long.

As he grew in her hand, she rolled him over on his back and moved down his body, kissing his ribs and slipping her fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down. He watched as she freed him, and delighted in her shock when she discovered how large he was. Without hesitation, she tossed his briefs aside, moved to the edge of the bed where he sat, and took her place between his legs, catching a glimpse of his wicked smile as she did so.

Her mouth watered for him, and as soon as she wrapped her hand around his girth, he sighed; how long it had been since he had felt the touch of a woman, she wondered. The tension melted from him as she slowly stroked up and down, working him to full hardness. Like iron wrapped in velvet, he grew harder with each stroke of her soft hand. 

He wanted to watch, but couldn’t help squeezing his eyes shut in a grimace; he wanted it to last forever but it wouldn’t take long.

“Is it my turn to taste you, Doctor Lecter?” she asked, a malevolent smile on her lips. He sighed and brushed the hair from her face, gathering it at the back of her head where he held tightly and gently guided her lips to his waiting cock. 

First she caught his ridge with her tongue and swirled it around, then took him into her mouth completely, wrapping him in wet warmth and sucking gently. 

The sound of release and pleasure that tumbled from his lips at that moment was nearly enough to send her over the edge again; it was a vulnerable, breathy cry that she felt in her core. Without stopping, she looked up and found his eyes locked on hers, his brow creased in sheer disbelief that this was happening. 

Knowing it would blow his mind, she hummed gently and looked back up at him, cock in her mouth. When she worked the underside of him with her tongue, another pent up groan escaped his throat; he would not take long, she knew. And she wanted all of him. So she moved faster, using her hand as well as her lips to coax his release from him.

Soon she had him panting for her, and when he choked out her name, she knew. His hips jerked under her and through clenched teeth he groaned, his seed warming her from the inside as she swallowed every last drop of him.

He released his hold on her hair and gasped for air, his satisfied grin mirroring the one on her face. She thought she’d had her fill, but before she could revel any further in their shared bliss, he stood up and took in the sight of her - naked and kneeling at his feet - with a stern look of renewed hunger.

He wasn’t finished.

Incredulously, she looked up at him - and his growing excitement - from the ground and felt her body throb for him. He looked as if he were carved from marble, solid and strong, the planes of his legs and stomach and shoulders glistening with sweat from their play. 

How was he so ready once more, she marveled. Either way, with the sight of him before her, cock hanging thick and hungry for her again, she knew she was more than ready. When he reached down with an open hand, she took a moment to freeze that moment in her mind, and accepted.

After he helped her stand on ecstasy-shaken legs and they were face to face one more, he brushed the hair from her face and stroked her cheek tenderly, eyes searching hers. 

“You have given me a gift with your body, my pearl. Such a beautiful gift,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “Will you give me all that remains?” His hands trailed over her bare skin, bringing goosebumps as they moved.

She tilted her head in abandon, eyes closed against his lips on her throat and hands at her ribs, and whispered in response, “Everything I have is yours.”

He growled triumphantly and his hands closed on her waist, pulling her around to the bed where he pressed her back against the blankets once more and climbed on top of her.

They wasted no time now; their foreplay had set them both on fire for each other. She reached up with one hand to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer for a kiss.

He responded by pressing himself against her, his now fully erect cock slipping perfectly between her legs. The sensation made her mouth water. 

As they deepened the kiss, she lifted her legs to rock against his hips and spread her wetness up and down the length of his shaft. The new friction brought a grunt from his throat. They were both so ready.

All it took was a slight adjustment of her hips to let him slip easily inside her, and they were both sent reeling at the sensation. Being filled with him so completely, it took her breath away. His eyes clouded with pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt, hips coming to rest against hers with a satisfied hum.

He picked up the pace with each thrust, the new sensations bringing a sharp gasp from her lips.

“You like that?" he asked through clenched teeth. As she grew comfortable with his size, his hips pistoning against hers. She could only exhale, “God yes,” unable to form a full thought. 

In a move so hot she couldn’t have anticipated it, he licked at his fingers and reached down between them to rub at her clit, causing her to buck against him.

Breathlessly, she sped towards her release and thought for a moment that she should hold back. But seeing his eyes locked on hers, the exertion on his face, she knew he was close too. 

Clenching down around him, she scratched her nails up his back and through his hair. He leaned in and planted a feverish kiss on her lips, pulling away with a strangled grunt.

That was all it took - just hearing him, seeing his face twisted in ecstasy, she felt the swell deep in her core and gasped out a choked, “Yes-!”

His eyes widened as her shout brought him to his own shuddering climax with a desperate cry. She wrapped her legs around him as his hips jerked, pumping jet after jet of hot seed deep within her, giving her the gift of his warmth for the second time that night. 

Under him she rode the waves of her orgasm and milked him with her body, gasping out a laugh of pure joy. He did the same as he came down from his high, sweat beaded on his brow and hair in his eyes. She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind his ear and breathed in his scent, lightheaded with pleasure. 

They had become one, and there was no turning back now.

-

After they’d cleaned up, Sophie stood at the balcony door wrapped in a sheet, the city sprawled out below her while Lecter relaxed behind her on the bed.

"I wish I had my sketchbook," he said from where he lay.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled coyly. 

In one motion, he sat up and slipped out of the bed, naked, and joined her at the window. Wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in the crook of her neck, he pressed against her and sighed, “The sight of you in this moment - in this sheet -" he snarled cheekily and she giggled - "I wish to remember this forever, every detail."

She sighed and relaxed into his embrace. They took in the view together, silently, for a few blissful moments. 

When she spoke, it was so softly, like a prayer.

"I love you, Hannibal.”

She turned, held her breath, and found a fire blazing in his eyes. 

It was the first time she had spoken his name. And the first time she confessed what she truly felt for him. 

“And I love you," he replied, just above a whisper.

She smiled, her heart soaring at the sound of his voice saying the words.

He continued, nearly breathlessly: “I’ve never wanted to know another person as wholly and completely as I wish to know you.”

She regarded him. “Will you give me the gift of knowing you, completely?”

He exhaled, his voice splintered, “I gave it to you the moment you opened your eyes in the hospital.”

She crumbled at his confession. Words were pointless.

His lips twitched. So she covered them with hers.

Milan glittered before them, the only witness to their new beginning.


	16. Finding Peace

Since the morning Crawford showed up accusing Hannibal of being the Ripper, things had been different between he and his now former colleagues. Their suspicions - and the body count - mounted with each week, and soon he was all but presumed guilty. 

Sophie knew the truth: some of the murders were, in fact, Hannibal’s doing, but only within reason. He had assured her that things were under control, but one late night visit from an unhinged Will Graham set Hannibal’s - and Sophie’s - nerves on edge.

A week had passed since that visit though, and things seemed relatively stable at the moment. So Sophie resigned herself to ride the wave and adopted Hannibal’s approach to life more each day.

Now, as she read after dinner while he worked at his desk, a snowstorm raged outside the tall windows that lined his study. 

The lights flickered, the record player skipped momentarily, and all at once the power shut down completely. She glanced up from her book, found him by the glow of the snow as he stood and walked to the windows. "The coast is out," he said as he searched for lights across the water in the darkness.

She hummed in acknowledgement and took in the sight of him, half lit by the brightness of the snow gathering outside. 

They had continued to explore new avenues of pleasure with each other in the weeks after their return from Italy, but Sophie still caught herself thinking about it in disbelief; the idea that Lecter belonged to her in that way, and she to him, was such an incredible treat. 

She placed her book on the couch and joined him at the window, feeling small next to him in bare feet. She shivered at the chill seeping in through the panes of glass and he placed an arm around her waist to draw her into his warmth. 

"We should consider sleeping by the fire tonight, my pearl," he said, bringing a smile to her lips. 

A short while later, they had set up a comfortable makeshift bed on the plush carpet near the fireplace in the bedroom and settled in with glasses of "in case of emergency" wine.

As they lay under the comforter near the fire, the warmth from their bodies kept the chill at bay just as much as the flames did.

Sophie faced the fire, tucked into his arms like a little spoon, her eyelids heavy. He nuzzled the hair from her ear. "When I hold you in my arms," he whispered, "I am reminded of how no one can be fully aware of another human being until we love them."

She stroked the arm he wrapped around her, completely content. He continued, "Through that love, they allow us to see the potential we possess; and we in turn allow our beloved to see their own potential." 

The fire danced before them. She watched, mesmerized, and replied almost absent-mindedly, "What potential do I help you see in yourself?"

He pressed himself against her even tighter, breathed in. "I've found a peace with you that I want to preserve. I've hardly killed since you've lived here with me."

She smiled in spite of herself at his words. Spoken by anyone else, they would shock and appall. But now, tucked into his arms perfectly under the blankets, snow blanketing everything outside; his words were music to her ears.

"And that suits you?" she asked beatifically. 

"It does."

After a beat, she sat up, the blankets falling from her shoulders as she straddled his hips, bared completely to him in the firelight.

He took her in with hungry eyes, his hands and his gaze traveling over her skin. "It suits me too, then," she practically purred. 

He twitched under her; their hunger for each other was always there, it seemed. She felt the throb of his heartbeat in his growing excitement between her legs and against her chest as he sat up and wrapped a hand around her neck to hold her close to him. 

His lips feathered against hers, "You do realize that because I have not killed... I am so very hungry."

She laughed throatily, tossed her head back and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Knowing how your tastes run, that doesn't bode well for me, Doctor."

When she looked back down at him, his smile said it all. "You needn't worry - I prefer dining with you, not on you."

He buried his face in her neck and kissed, his tongue dancing along her collarbone and making her pliable in his arms. Expertly, he pressed her backwards so that she lay spread before him like a buffet.

He hovered over her and laid a trail of hot kisses between her breasts and towards her center. 

"Although," he whispered against her quivering stomach as he dipped his head between her legs, "I do love the way you taste..." 

And so he did.


	17. Lanterns Lit

They sat at the kitchen counter, sipping their coffee and reading the paper, when she felt his eyes on her.

Glancing up, she found him staring and smiled inquisitively. "What's wrong?" 

He smiled, a distant look in his eyes. "Nothing. I'm simply admiring the way you read."

She blushed. When she looked back up he was coming around the counter to meet her with a kiss, surprising her with its desperation.

Uncertain about where this energy was coming from, she still enjoyed it and succumbed to him, matched his energy as he reached under the hem of her sleep shirt to pull her panties off easily.

Within seconds he’d moved her to the dining room table where he laid her down on her back and took a knee before her, burying his face between her legs before she could even process what was happening.

The shock of it brought a happy cry from her throat, and she responded by slinging a leg over his shoulder and tangling her fingers in his hair. He nuzzled and lapped at her like she were the only water in the desert, fucking her with his tongue and digging his fingers into her quivering thighs.

After what felt like an eternity, he came up for air, lips glistening and eyes gleaming. She watched him with hooded eyes, eager to see what he’d do next. He stood, looking down at her hungrily, cock tenting his pajama bottoms. She sat up and tugged them down his hips, freeing him easily. Just as her palm wrapped around his manhood, he instead took himself in his hand and stepped back. “Stand up.”

The command surprised and excited her; this was not the reserved, measured man she’d grown to love. Desire had turned him feral. And she liked it.

She obeyed and stood before him, looking up at him uncertainly. His eyes were unfocused with need. “Turn around.”

Slowly she did as he instructed, and thrilled as she felt his hands slide up her back, tugging her shirt off over her head. Not being able to see him heightened the anticipation and caused her to shiver when he slid both hands up her back and around her shoulders, bending her gently to forward over the table.

Now resting on her elbows, she was exposed entirely to him. It made her mouth water. Squeezing her hip with one hand, he wasted no time in sliding along her soaking wet slit, up and down and up again. She hummed with anticipation as he brushed against her clit with each pass. She arched her back, offering herself to him.

Once he was thoroughly coated with her juices he pressed against her entrance and slipped inside her easily. This new angle was incredible; she could feel the ridge of his cock as he buried it deeper within her and gasped when he hit her innermost walls. 

He responded by pulling back out inch by inch and tightening his grip in her hair. She wanted more, and could tell by the way he moved that she was going to get it. 

Sure enough, he tugged on her hair as he slid back in even further and faster, picking up speed and making her wetter with each thrust. She cried out for more and finally he abandoned all restraint. His breath grew ragged as he rutted into her like an animal, grunting with the effort.

Their lovemaking had been just that; until now. This was fucking. And neither of them wanted to stop. He pummeled her from behind, sending her reeling into a moan; a low cry from deep in her core. When he reached for her clit, she’d never known such intense pleasure.

The sound of his voice, heavy and breathless, sent her nearly over the edge: “Come for me,” he gasped.

With a glance over her shoulder, she found him completely undone, bare chest drenched in sweat and muscles taut with exertion. His hair a mess, his eyes unfocused, though they burned holes right through her. 

“Come for me now,” he demanded.

That was all it took. She came at his command, hard and fast, her orgasm wracking her body against his. She tossed her head back as his hips slammed once more against her; he was coming too. He shouted out and stilled his body, throbbing into her with his release. His warmth spread all through her, so deep that she felt it in her core.

She collapsed on her stomach with a heavy sigh as he pulled out, softening, and leaned over her, arms wrapped around her middle, sweaty skin on skin. Chest heaving against her, he panted into her ear. "You know I love you, yes?" 

Her brow creased and she stood, gasping for air. "Of course. And I love you..." She wrapped her arm around him tighter and rested a hand on his cheek. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

Something about the concern on his face worried Sophie; she could see his brain working behind his eyes as he considered what to say next. "And no matter what happens, you know that nothing will change that?"

Now she was alarmed. "Hannibal, what's wrong? Are you in trouble?"

He gave his head a quick shake as if to clear it, then re-focused on her with a calm smile and a sigh. "Not at all, my pearl. It’s just... I simply let my emotions get the best of me.”

She wasn't convinced. But he wasn't giving an inch. He glanced at her mug and reached for it. "More coffee?" he asked, smiling. 

By that night, he was dead.

-

They had ambushed him, gone rogue: while they couldn't prove he was the Ripper, they had their suspicions and plenty of circumstantial evidence (and personal vendettas) to incriminate him in their minds.

But because they had all been disbarred and told to stand down, he remained a free man. Until the moment he left Will's home, got into his car, and died in a horrific explosion. The investigators said it was a faulty ignition line and a gas leak that may or may not have been sabotage, but the fire burned too hot for too long for them to be able to tell conclusively. 

His body was burned so badly beyond recognition that they had to use his dental records to identify him. 

Sophie didn't discover this until later that night when Hannibal never returned home. A call to Jack Crawford confirmed what she already knew: they had finally done it. 

But apparently Hannibal had seen it coming: he had amended his will to include Sophie and left the house in her name, along with his office in Baltimore - and it was a good thing he did, as she found herself being visited almost daily by that awful Jack Crawford and his team, who wanted to get access to Hannibal’s patient files and home. In his death, she fiercely protected the privacy that Hannibal strove for in life, turning every visitor away without question.

After a small ceremony that was attended by just a few people a few days after his murder, Sophie returned back to their home - her home, now - and found it almost unbearable to be surrounded by the memories. 

In a daze, she entered the house alone, and wandered into the living room. She dropped her bag on the floor and turned, expected him to come through the door from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. But he did not.

Unfocused, she ascended the stairs to the second floor, where her legs carried her numbly into the bedroom. Their bedroom. 

Her chest tightened. She stood at the side of the bed he used to sleep on, afraid to move. The air shifted and as she breathed in, her throat closed; she could still smell him in the air.

The emotions hit her like a train. Face crumpled in a silent sob, she collapsed into the bed and let loose a moan at the overwhelming memory of him in these sheets with her. Pulling his pillow from its spot, she hugged it close as if it were him in her arms and wailed.

He was gone. Her heart ached with emptiness. Unable to move from that spot, Sophie lay there for hours, crying, until she had no tears left. The sound of her own sobs sounded foreign, strangely unrecognizable after a while. The sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the air grew cold around her. The darkness comforted her.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, for when she opened her eyes once more, it was daylight. Water running in the bathroom caused her to sit up in bed and look towards the source of the sound. 

Sure enough, Hannibal emerged from the steam in the bathroom, in just a towel, a smile on his face and damp hair falling in his eyes.

Her heart swelled: she’d dreamt it all! Seeing him again filled her with a joy unlike any other. She sighed in relief and smiled at him, her whole body going warm at his tender expression.

But when he opened his mouth to speak, Sophie watched in horror as flames erupted from his face and engulfed him instantly.

Like a lightning bolt struck her, she shot upright in bed: she’d been dreaming. 

Shocked and disoriented, she looked over her shoulder at the empty bed. The clock on the bedside table read 2:42am.

Rising, she sniffled and remembered where she was - and why she was there - and the memory hit her all at once, brand new. The pain tore through her as if she’d just learned about it. Her breath became shorter and shorter until she thought she’d be sick. 

Staggering to the bathroom, she wretched again and again. Nothing but bile came up because she hadn't eaten more than a few bites in days.

Shaking, she rinsed out her mouth and stared at herself in the medicine chest mirror. Her reflection spoke volumes: sunken eyes, wild hair, full lips and red cheeks. Hannibal would have something to say about that, she thought to herself.

At the thought of him - even a passing one - her heart swelled. But the realization dawned once more and it passed. He was gone.

She knew she needed to eat something - the increasing dizziness now was too much to ignore - so she carefully walked back out of the bathroom to find a sweater to wear down to the kitchen.

As she moved barefoot across the room to the closet, she passed the window when something caught her eye and she froze: a man outside, in the trees. She leapt back for a second look, but he was already gone.

Her heart beat so hard she could hear it. She shook her head and said out loud, to no one, "Hannibal?" She pounded on the glass of the window with her palm, shouted his name once more. 

It had to be him. Without thinking twice, she ran down the stairs and tore through the front door, around the back of the house. "Hannibal?!" she shouted into the darkness. she didn't care if she looked ridiculous, she knew what she saw.

Into the trees she ran, right to the spot where the figure had stood, and stopped. Panting, she spun around and called for him. "Hannibal, please!"

But all she heard in reply was the sound of leaves crunching under her bare feet; her ragged breath and chattering teeth. 

She had imagined him. That was the only explanation.

As it dawned on her just how delirious she had become, the tears welled in her eyes once more. She sat heavily, in the dirt and leaves, and cried. Nothing made sense any longer. Her worst nightmare had come true: the only person who was able to calm her mind and quiet her fears was gone. The realization left her feeling even more alone, on the hard ground beside the water, in the dead of a cold April night.  
-  
The pain never went away; his loss caused a constant low-grade ache to throb in her chest whenever she was awake. But it got even worse the following week, when she thought she saw him once again.

She had been living in the house alone for a week since he had died, and while he kept a well-stocked kitchen, she had gone through most of the food while the rest spoiled.

So she moved, zombie-like, through the crowds at the farmers market, basket over her arm. Peppers, strawberries, romaine, melon... Some of it may have even been rotten on one side for all she knew - she robotically picked things up and added them to her haul without checking them. 

Suddenly she heard a voice - his voice, she could have sworn - chiding her, "You need to test the fruit before you buy."

She whirled around to where it came from, but a crowd of people behind her bustled by and he was nowhere to be seen. Suspiciously, she looked at each person as they passed; surely someone was playing a prank on her.

Her grip on reality began to slip. Tears filled her eyes as she turned in her spot over and over, scanning the crowd of faces, none of them his. 

Finally she glanced down at her half-spoiled haul, abandoned the basket and went home to drink herself to sleep in front of the fire.  
-  
She cooked, listened to music, read his books... all of it in a daze. Nothing had meaning anymore.

One evening, she returned from a run to find a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table in the front hallway - someone had been in the house.

She froze, staring at the greenery, not daring to breathe. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing slightly. "Is someone here?" 

No response.

They were beautiful flowers; rare, not just from some 1-800-flowers local shop. These were special blooms. Cautiously, she stepped closer to the flowers, holding her breath. A tiny envelope was tucked between the blossoms.

As if something was going to jump out from the vase, she gingerly plucked the it from its place and opened it with shaking hands. The paper was richly textured, thick and smooth. But it was the card inside that made her heart stop.

There in the center of the card were just three words, in Hannibal's perfect calligraphy: 

*vide cor meum*

She gasped and dropped the note, backed away from the flowers. Tears sprang to her eyes and her throat tightened; she let out just one sob. 

A particular flower in the middle of the bunch caught her eye: A lotus blossom. The same color as the one he had gifted her when she first moved in with him.

No one could have known that but Hannibal. Her face crumpled once again and she placed the vase back down gently. He must have ordered them before he passed. 

Now clutching the card for dear life, she admired the flowers for a few moments before heading back upstairs for a shower, where she sat on the floor of the tub and cried until the water ran cold.


	18. Bring Me the Disco King

It was a windy night - a storm was coming - and she sat by the fire, listening to his old records and drinking the last bottle of the case of Cabernet he had ordered for her birthday. 

She thumbed through the journals she had found on his shelves, surprised to discover his notes on their first sessions back in the hospital. 

"Sophie exhibits an emotional depth beyond her years; the mental acuity it must have taken for her to juggle her role as wife and savior of her own life with every one of his murders is astounding."

She smiled bittersweetly to herself as she realized; while he referred to others as "the patient", he referred to her by her name in his notes, even from the beginning. And his insights on her were colored with his own opinions and thoughts, unlike other patients, who he took notes on with clinical precision.

After she tired of reading and the wine made her eyelids heavy, she moved to his desk to pore over his sketches instead. When she sat in his plush leather chair, her eyes landed on a frame she’d never noticed before: he’d framed a photo of her and placed it on his desk. Her heart twisted in her chest at the sight of it.

As the wind whipped around outside and she found a cache of sketches he had done of her while she read one afternoon, she found herself getting nostalgic. 

She remembered that day as if it were yesterday: 

_The warm light of the sunset reflected off of the snow outside as she sat curled up on the settee with a book. After a while she glanced up and found him at his desk looking at her with his charcoal pencil in hand and a smirk on his face, as if she’d caught him in the act. _

_"What have you got there?" she asked with a smile of her own._

_He glanced down at his work, caught red-handed, and confessed: "You've caught me. I'm simply admiring the way you read."_

Her heart seized at the memory: that was what he said to her that morning in the kitchen, before he died. 

She buried her face in her hand and pushed the sketches aside hastily, to keep her tears from marring the art. As she sniffled to herself and finished the last of her third glass, she shifted in her seat and her gaze settled on the fire...

And she let herself get lost in the memory of their last coupling in front of that fire, so many nights ago in the dead of a winter's night:

_They played cards late into the evening, drank gin martinis and gambled with pennies. After she ran out of coins, she suggested they use their clothes as bargaining chips; the game took a decidedly more competitive turn from there. Soon he had her down to her garters and underthings, but not before she managed to win everything off of him but his boxer briefs. The final hand got ugly. _

_Instead of letting him beat her with his obviously winning hand, she distracted him by climbing over the "table" they’d made on the rug before the fire, crawling on her hands and knees to get to him._

_His gaze turned hungry and more needful as she moved. By the time she’d destroyed their perfect piles of pennies and made it to his side of the rug, he was practically throbbing for her. _

_She took him over with her kiss, pressed him back against the rug and straddled him with a leg on either side of his hips where she looked down at him. He took her in with hungry eyes and slid his large, powerful hands over her ribs and covered her breasts._

_The malevolent smile he gave her as she ground against his hardness brought a fresh spike of heat to her sweet spot. She covered his hands with her own and he squeezed, massaging her breasts and humming deliciously._

Suddenly, she was startled by a muffled bang against the front of the house and went to investigate. 

_ As if on cue, she startled and looked up, then disappeared to the front of the house to attend to the noise. Her absence allowed him to slip into the house unnoticed, using the patio door with the broken lock.  _

_ Wasting no time, he removed a capsule from his pocket with gloved hands and moved to the desk where her wine glass and the bottle sat. In one motion he tore off the top of the ampoule, poured half of the amber liquid into the bottle, swirled the liquids inside to mix them, and did the same with her wine glass.  _

_ As the front door opened and closed once more, he moved quietly back into the recessed hallway off to the side of the sitting room just as she re-entered the space, unaware of her new visitor. _

It turned out to be a tree branch that had been broken in the wind and was scraping against the door. After moving it and coming back inside, she found the patio door blown wide open, leaves twirling around in the gusts that came in with it.

"Damn door," she said to herself, just slightly tipsily. It had stuck before Hannibal passed, and apparently was almost entirely broken now. She did her best to lock it up once more and settled back into the plush carpet by the fire, pouring herself a fourth and final glass.

As soon as it hit her lips, she screwed up her face - it tasted off. Something had turned. So quickly? 

She stood and checked the bottle, swirled it around, sipped again - this time the taste wasn't as strong, so she chalked it up to her tastebuds and looked back down at the desk; but something was wrong. 

The sketches spread out on the desk swirled before her eyes and the room listed to one side. The wine must have been working much faster than she’d anticipated. She sipped again and knew she needed to go to bed now, so she drunkenly put out the fire. By the time she drained the glass, she could barely stand. 

This was unlike her; her tolerance was usually quite high, especially lately now that she had been finishing a bottle nearly every other night to self-medicate.

She staggered to the stairs, where she couldn't even get one foot in front of the other in proper fashion. Her head swam and she found it hard to keep her eyes open. 

_ In the shadows he stood, motionless and silent as a statue, watching as the drug took effect and she grew more sluggish with each minute. He had made a huge mistake in doing this; had he given her too much? It hurt him to see her struggle. _

_ They had 2 rules: that he would never lie, and never hurt her. _

_ He had done both of those things with this one act. _

_ As soon as he saw the effect the wine had on her, he regretted his decision. It was a childish - and it pained him to admit, rude - thing to do to her. He told himself he’d make it up to her after he was resurrected, but knew he would pay.  _

Finally, she made her way to the stairs and took them carefully, slowly. 

One step at a time, she made it up the stairs and to the bedroom where she collapsed across the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

_ To avoid the risk of being seen, he waited for her to get to the bedroom - after all, he had been patient up til this point, what was another few minutes? But when he was sure she'd be out, he emerged from the shadows and moved like a spectre, silently up the same steps she had just staggered up. _

_ With each step, he paused, ensuring he made no sound. Soon he arrived at the bedroom door and found her, motionless, stretched across the bed on her stomach.  _

_ Yes, he had given her a bit too much, he thought regretfully. It wouldn't harm her, of course. It was specifically formulated to simply render her unconscious for a few hours: just enough time for him to gather the necessary paperwork he would have to forge for them to begin their new lives as soon as he resurrected himself. _

_ But as he stood in the doorway and watched her sleep, his heart swelled: this was his pearl. His beautiful girl, with her auburn hair splayed in waves behind her and her brow knit in anxiety, even in her sleep. He wished he could take that pain from her, even as he knew he was the cause of it. _

_ Her breath came slowly, evenly. With his keen sense of hearing and the quiet in the room, he found her heartbeat in the silence and focused on it. Sighing, he felt his own heart sync with hers, and a sense of peace came over him as he closed his eyes. _

_ He ached to hold her in his arms once more but could not; when he saw her lifeless body on the bed, his heart broke. She had given him a gift with her trust and he squandered it by doing this.  _

_ As much as he wished to hold her, even to touch her, he knew he could not. Drugging her was a serious transgression; putting his hands on her without her permission - even to feel the warmth of her cheek as she slept - would be a violation of the highest degree.  _

_ So he steeled himself instead with a sigh and leaned over her, bringing his hand above her ear to snap twice, loudly. She didn't flinch. _

_ Satisfied, he turned and moved back down the stairs without being careful - he moved easily, as if he still lived in this house. Poking through the drawers of his desk, he pulled out paperwork and documents, folding them into an envelope which he tucked into his jacket pocket.  _

_ Moving to a wall safe hidden behind a fake set of books on his shelf, he opened the heavy door and reached in for the contents.  _

_ As he finished his work, he glanced back up the stairs one last time and couldn't help himself. Taking them two at a time, he was soon back by her side and staring at her once more. _

_ Carefully, he sat at the side of the bed, not touching her or disturbing her in her drugged slumber. His heart swelled at the sight of her once more; he could not wait to be with her again. A tender smile crossed his lips. And even more carefully than before, he lay down on his side next to her, taking his place as if they were going to bed just like any other night.  _

_ From this angle he could almost pretend she was sleeping. Here, he studied the curve of her cheek, the swell of her lips. He longed to see her eyes once more - that would have to wait until he could finally come 'back to life' as it were. _

_ The emotions overtook him too swiftly; he was speaking to her in a gentle whisper before he could stop himself. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to cause you this pain. Soon it will be over, I promise.” _

_ Of course he knew she couldn’t hear him; the drug dulled all senses, after all. But his heart ached for her, and he had to reassure her somehow. Even if it was more a reassurance for himself.  _

_ He breathed in the scent of her hair, listened to her breathe for a few more moments of serenity… it would pain him greatly to leave, he knew, but he had to. Finally, he sighed and stood once more, straightening his jacket as he watched her sleep peacefully for a few more moments.  _

_ “Til we meet again, my pearl.” _

_ And just like that, he was gone just as quietly as he had arrived, down the stairs and out the door like a shadow retreating back into the darkness.  _

What felt like hours later, she woke and found it to be morning already - almost afternoon, in fact. She was shocked, she never usually slept that late. Had she really been that drunk? As she sat up, the usual hangover symptoms were missing - she felt fine, actually. Well rested. Peaceful.

It was jarring - things didn't add up, but she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of peace. Like she used to feel when she slept right beside him. 


	19. Honey

Sophie stood at the plain grave marker, the grass now just starting to grow back over the dirt that had been placed over the casket more than a month earlier.

With the breeze catching her hair and the edge of her jacket and skirt, she spoke to him as if they were in their sitting room once again.

"A man was rude to me today," she said quietly. She laughed softly in spite of herself, "No one was rude to me when you were around."

The thought of him there with her caused the tears to flow once more. "I don't know how to _be_ without you,” she said, completely lost now.

Tears blurred her vision as she remembered laying in bed with him, dancing in his study...

"The only time it doesn't hurt is when I'm sleeping," she continued, wishing he could hear her. She cried big fat tears now, unable to stop.

She gasped for air and wiped her nose, but more tears kept flowing. “I keep thinking I see you but it's never you,” she sobbed.

The sound of crunching leaves behind her caused her to turn around - and there, about 10 yards away, stood a man in a three piece suit, broad shouldered and tall, blond hair parted and combed back perfectly.

Slowly she turned to watch him through her tears; it was another hallucination, it had to be. She wiped her eyes and blinked hard, but still he moved towards her with confident strides.

He stopped before her, as sharp and real-looking as the last day she saw him before the FBI had burned him alive in that car. She could even smell the cologne from where she stood. His eyes moved all over her body, his brow creased slightly.

How could he seem so real, she wondered. He looked down at her with such concern and tenderness that she almost believed he was real. His eyes were perfect recreations. After staring into them for so long, she had them memorized: the tiny flecks of gold that only shone when he looked at her, the concentric circles in his irises - they were all there.

But then he opened his mouth and spoke: "I'm here, my pearl."

She froze in shock; the ground lurched under her. When she tried to speak, her voice wouldn't work. She reached out tentatively and placed a hand on his chest: it was solid.

He was alive.

Her whole body went numb. He was alive and he was standing in front of her.

Her tears turned into full on sobs of relief as she realized the truth. She collapsed heavily into his arms and he lowered her gently to the ground where he knelt and held her. She clung to him like a vine.

His voice was like music as he whispered quiet reassurances into her ear, "Shhh, it's alright, beautiful girl. I'm here."

As he stroked her hair and rocked her gently, her tears subsided. For the first time in weeks, she could breathe again.

She raised her head to look up at him and found his eyes brimmed with tears; those dark eyes she thought she’d never see again. But through those tears, he gazed at her with half a smirk. "Now: who was rude to you?" he asked, his voice cool and smoky.

Her heart did a somersault in her chest and a delirious giggle escaped her lips. He was back.

-

Back home, they barely made it through the front door before he took her over, hands around her face and lips on hers. They couldn’t take their hands off each other, the time apart and absolute thrill of being together once more positively electrified them.

Kicking the door closed behind them, they tore each other’s clothes off between kisses as they fumbled their way up to the bedroom where they fell into the duvet naked together, their bodies charged with heat.

His hardness in her palm, his stubble against her chin, the scent of him filling her nostrils: He was here again, and she wanted to feel him everywhere.

Eye to eye, they paused, short of breath, lips parted. Taking in every detail, feeling him against every inch of her body, she exhaled in wonder and relief, “You’re really here.” Her smile threatened to spill into grateful tears again.

He broke into a similar grin. “I’m here.”

Tangling his fingers in her hair to bring her closer, he covered her lips with his for a sweet kiss. The taste of him stirred something in her. She needed to feel him inside her immediately. The ache in her core throbbed.

She reached down, his eyes searching her face as he buried his cock deep within her.

“So beautiful,” he exhaled, his breath feathering against her skin. In reply, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him down on top of her, the heat of his skin and the crush of his weight everything she needed in that moment.

He picked up speed now, hitting new nerves within her with each stroke. The pleasure was so all-encompassing that she couldn’t stop a strangled moan from escaping her lips.He rocked his hips into her over and over again, responding with a grunt of his own, the sound sending a fresh spike of desire right to her core.

It was enough to push her right to the edge of her climax. She pulled him closer, scratching her nails up his back and rolling her hips against him even harder. She needed to feel him everywhere.

“Give me... everything,” she panted against his ear, demanding he cum for her.

Sweat beading on his forehead and perfectly combed hair now hanging in his eyes, he burned her with his gaze. His words came out strangled and clipped, the sheer desperation in his voice sending her hurtling into space as he replied, “I am yours...”

That was all it took for her to fall off the edge of the cliff of her orgasm, clenching around him. He gasped at the new sensation of being squeezed so tightly inside her, his release rocking him hard and fast.

A long, choked moan stuttered from his lips as colors swirled before her eyes. She rode the waves of pleasure with him, arms locked around him. His hips shook against hers as he throbbed within her. She hummed as they came down together for the first time in months.

Breathless, he collapsed against her and rolled so he lay on his side next to her. Filled with his seed and drenched in sweat, she turned and buried her face in his chest, gasping for breath. She pressed her lips to his skin and tasted the salt.

“Oh, my pearl,” he murmured against her, hand tangled in her hair to hold her fast to him.

She sighed as she caught her breath, ”I must be dreaming...” she looked up and stroked his cheek, loving the feel of him under her hands once more, warm and solid. She thought she’d never feel that stubble again, and never wanted to stop now.

“Then I must be, too,” he replied, shifting up to tuck her into his side among the pillows, where he gazed at her with tenderness.

Eyes tracking over every inch of her body, he traced gentle lines through her hair and down her cheek. When he met her eyes with his, it was as if he were trying to read fine print at the back of her skull. His gaze warmed her, along with his body.

He whispered to her as he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, "I didn't think it possible, but you've grown even more beautiful, my pearl. Although I would be lying if I said I haven't been keeping an eye on you in the months since my death."

She sat up to look at him. His face was guarded; he had revealed a secret, and knew that her reaction would be explosive.

Quickly she put the pieces together and it hit her like a bus... it had been him the whole time. Her eyes went wide.

“You... it _was_ you? In the trees and at the market...” she trailed off, mind reeling.

He was stricken. "And the flowers. And the wine, the night of the storm. Yes."

She was stunned: he’d been there the whole time. But never let on. “Why would you toy with me like that?”

His face was serious. “It was not malicious, I promise you. I contemplated not telling you at all about my deception, but a lie would do more damage than any outside force, so-“

She scoffed, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner??”

He squared his jaw. “If I’d let you in on my plans, Crawford and his team would have sniffed it out in an instant.”

She knew he wasn’t wrong, but it was still a mind fuck.

He continued, “They’ve been keeping watch here and at my office since before the incident. I only lingered at first to keep you safe, to make sure they didn’t harass you. But when I saw the pain it put you through, I had to find ways to show you I was still here; to comfort you.”

Crawford had eyes on him? On her? And Hannibal had been watching her? Nothing made sense. She untangled herself from the sheets and wrapped one around her, standing. “I thought I was having a mental breakdown.”

He winced - this unflappable man winced! - and offered weakly, "I only did what I did..."

"To show me that you weren't dead?" she interrupted him. "How could I possibly know that? _I saw your body_."

He never met her eyes. "_A_ body. Not mine."

She bit her tongue at his response - he always had to be the smartest in the room. But as she worked through his confession, it hit her even harder: "Wait, did you say the wine?"

He nodded, still unable to look at her. Now they had come to it.

"What did you do to my wine, Hannibal?" she asked seriously.

He looked up, squared himself to meet her angry gaze, and confessed, "I drugged it."

Her stomach dropped and she went numb. She couldn't believe her ears. "You _what_?"

He chose his words carefully, "It was a betrayal of the highest degree. I realized it as soon as I saw the effect it had on you. I am truly sorry.”

Livid didn’t even come close to how she felt.

“Trust, Hannibal! I thought you valued it!”

He explained, “I had to gather some paperwork to bring myself back to life, so to speak. I had waited for days and nights outside the house for the right time, but between Crawford’s team outside and your constant vigilance, I ran out of time.”

She turned to face him, uncertain. He’d watched over her all this time, even slept outside? She sat on the bed once more.

He went on, “That night, I gave you a sedative so I would not wake you when I entered the house. When I was finished, I followed you upstairs. As soon as I saw you there, I regretted my decision.”

She spoke quietly, without looking at him. “What two things have you always told me, Hannibal? Since the day we met?” She counted them on her fingers: “That you would never lie to me, and never hurt me.”

He lowered his gaze, ashamed.

“I can understand why you had to fake your own death. But for you to break both of those promises by… _drugging me senseless_? What kind of..."

She cut herself off before she said the word, but he knew what she was going to say. His eyes flashed through tears as he looked up abruptly, hurt beyond words. But it had to be said.

"What kind of monster are you?"

His eyes searched hers, tears spilling onto his cheek.

“_Your_ monster.”

At this, she regarded him. He was broken. Lost at the thought of breaking her trust and losing her.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "I was unmoored without you. When I realized I could be near you without endangering you, I acted without thinking. And I will regret this mistake for the rest of my life. But listening to your heartbeat that night finally brought me peace. You ask me how could I? I ask you how could I _not_?"

She could see his remorse; felt it. He did these things because he cared; although his ways of expressing that care were sorely misguided.

"You are the only one in this world to see me and accept me. You gave me a gift with your trust. And I squandered it.”

Her heart tightened at his words.

"I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I have to try.” His hands shook in his lap.

"I beg you," he said, eyes locked on hers, his voice cracking, "Please."

Her heart broke: he could not stop his tears as he begged. "My beautiful girl. My pearl: forgive me."

She could never turn her back on this man, she knew. His remorse was real. As real as her love for him.

The tears now filled her own eyes as she brushed his hair aside and cupped his cheek to feel his warmth again. He exhaled heavily at her touch. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.

"I forgive you."

The grateful tears slipped from his eyes and he covered her hand with his, brought it to his lips and kissed it, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered against her fingers.

She moved to climb into his lap and wrap her arms around him, burying her face in his neck to stop her tears. He pinned her in his embrace and they stayed like this for a long moment, contemplating, soaking in the relief.

Finally she pulled away and studied his eyes, now red-rimmed with tears. He stroked her cheek and whispered, "Tell me what you're thinking, my beautiful girl."

Her heart fluttered in my chest at the sound of his voice so low and warm against her skin.

"Twenty four hours ago, you were dead."

He gave a soft nod. As she worked through those emotions, it dawned on her: “What will become of us now?"

He did not take the question lightly. "I may be gone, but I am most certainly not forgotten here in the States. It’s time to relocate, overseas. Leave Jack Crawford and the FBI behind, in Milan. Where we first visited the opera."

She paused, her heart nearly stopped with worry. "Alone?"

He sighed, stroking her cheek tenderly. "My beautiful girl, no. Not if you'll do me the honor of joining me."

The thought warmed her to her core. “When do we leave?” she asked with a smile.

He was thrilled. He held her close to him and sighed in relief, “Tomorrow.”

-

In the middle of the night she woke and found him missing from the bed, the light from his study downstairs just reaching the doorway. Slipping into a robe, she padded down the stairs in silence. Music softly played; the Bach aria he loved. As she turned the corner she found him at his desk, back straight and head inclined as he worked on something she couldn't see.

His head lifted in recognition; he caught a breeze with her scent. He turned and found her with a beatific smile. "Ah, I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

In response, she climbed into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her nose in his hair to breathe him in. "I woke and you were gone. I thought I'd dreamed everything."

He stroked her back tenderly as she sat back and nodded to the desk, "I'm sorry to leave you in a cold bed. I simply had some matters to attend to before tomorrow and didn't wish to disturb you."

"Are you nearly done?" she asked, looking down at his journals.

When she turned and found him looking up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, something stirred in her.

"Nothing that can't wait til morning," he murmured.

She ran her fingers across his lips softly and replied in a whisper, "Then take me back to bed."

And with that, he slipped an arm under her knees and around her back and stood, hoisting her into his arms easily. With a look, he turned and walked her back up the stairs into the bedroom where he laid her down gently and covered her with his body and his lips.

She twined her arms and legs around him and melted into his kiss - he invaded every one of her senses. Though they had feasted upon each other just a few hours earlier, it seemed being apart for so long had left them both hungry and needful for constant contact.

When he pulled away gently, she watched him with heavy eyelids as he traced the outline of her collarbones and leaned in to place his lips against them. She sighed, ecstatic.

He sighed against her neck, "You have my word, beautiful girl..." He raised his head to look her in the eye, "I will never leave you alone again. From here on out, I will be by your side. If you will have me there, of course."

She creased her brow: what did he mean, if she would have him?

He finished, "I am yours. Always. Do you understand?"

She nodded. She was entirely taken by him, lost in his eyes and unable to speak.

He moved his lips to her ear, where his whisper caused her skin to goosebump. "_Say you understand."_

His hand traveled down her stomach to her sweet spot, and her head swam. She couldn't focus. Weakly, she replied, "I understand."

As if to reward her, he covered her parted lips with his and took her over with his kiss. His fingers danced along her inner thigh and made her squirm under his touch.

This was no longer the time for talking.

Wordlessly he dove into her neck and kissed, his hips dipping low and allowing him to slip inside her easily. She gasped as his thick ridge stroked her innermost walls. Raising hooded eyes to meet hers, he plunged deeper and his hips came to rest against hers. Her chest heaved - the pleasure was nearly too much the second time around.

The luxurious feeling of being filled with him was soon replaced with a slowly burning fire when he began to rock his hips and fuck her slowly.She sighed his name, a sweet exhalation against his skin. The heat between them burned like fire. As they fell into a rhythm, he rolled so that he was now under her, pinned by her thighs. Hands clamped around her waist, he rolled his hips within her, fucking her deeper than ever before. It hurt so good to stretch around him once more; their second coupling of the night.

Deeper and deeper he moved with each pump, eyes locked on hers. Slipping his hands up her ribs and over her breasts, he exhaled in ecstasy, “See how _magnificent_ you are...”

She smiled and splayed her hands on his chest, leaned over to clench around him and whisper in his ear, “I see only you...”

She relished the smile he gave her as she sat straight back up and picked up the pace.

As their coupling grew more frenzied, the burn deep within her blossomed like a flower around his cock. Wantonly she rocked against him, the extreme fullness and the pressure against her clit pushing her towards climax. Covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing heavily under her, Hannibal wasn’t far off either.

He reached up and squeezed her breasts gently, the urgency in his movements increasing with each thrust of his hips. Their desperate grunts and throaty gasps filled the air. All she could focus on was the sense of rushing toward the edge of a cliff with him.

“Hannibal, please...” she managed to gasp out.

He could only grunt through gritted teeth, “Yes...” before they tumbled over the edge of their release together.

Colors bloomed before her eyes, fireworks popped and the world went white hot as her orgasm took over. Head tossed back in abandon, a heavy moan escaped her throat as he thrust one final time, hips stuttering against her. He cried out with his release, the sound echoing in her ears.

When the fog cleared after a few seconds, she found him there, eyes locked on hers, and murmured his name tenderly. His seed warmed her belly from within.

He reached up with shaking hands and pulled her face down to his, lips catching hers for a kiss to bring them both back down to earth. When they parted, she let him slip from her and collapsed into his side, where he wrapped an arm around her.

“You give me life, with each breath you take,” he exhaled, breath returning to normal.

She sighed found his tender smile. “Back from the dead to soak up life anew?”

“Almost,” he sighed. “This time tomorrow, yes.” The words rumbled in his chest against her cheek. Too exhausted to pick her head up, she hummed her approval. He stroked her hair softly and spoke quietly now, “Sleep, my pearl. I’ll be right here when you wake, I promise.”

She smiled and squeezed into him one last time before drifting off into a deep sleep.


	20. Fake Your Death

She woke at dawn with a start; she’d been dreaming but couldn’t remember what about, only that it filled her with anxiety. 

She glanced around to find her bearings, her eyes resting on Hannibal in bed beside her. He was deep in sleep; her movement hadn’t woken him.

At least he was there, she thought, her breath calming. He was there and they were together again. Ready to make a new start.

She settled back into bed beside him, resting her head in her hand to take him in. Sleeping, his chest rose and fell slowly, the sound of his breathing even and soft. She had memorized the curve of his lips and the lines of his cheekbones, where every other freckle dotted the bridge of his nose. But as she stared now, she recommitted each detail to memory.

She sighed with the realization that they would have to wake soon and put his plan into motion. At the sound, his eyes opened slowly, like the smile that spread across his face when he saw Sophie beside him.

So as not to disturb the quiet, he spoke, his voice just above a whisper. “Some nights it got so cold that I thought I might freeze out there keeping watch over you. The only thing that kept me warm was the memory of your eyes, and knowing that I would see them again one day.”

Her heart swelled. “I thought I’d never see your eyes again.”

He took pause; she had him there.

“I wish I never had to put you through that pain.”

She studied his expression. “Pain is often necessary for growth,” she countered.

He looked thoughtful. “Indeed, the chrysalis is about to enter its final stage.”

“Time to fly?” she asked, hope making her words sound smaller than she intended.

He smiled softly as he cupped her cheek and brought her in for a soft kiss.

“Time to fly.”

\- 

Over breakfast, he went over the details of his plan to get them to Italy. Step one: Sophie had to die.

Or rather, her death would be staged and she would disappear from the house, packing only a few things and leaving behind so much to make her death look believable and not like she had absconded with a murderous cannibal who was also supposed to be dead.

Once their things were packed and he had secured the documents necessary for their travel (Sophie never asked questions, simply knew that he knew what he was doing), the last step would be to fake her death. 

Sophie was wary, but he assured her that while it would be gruesome, it would also be relatively painless and safe - and foolproof.

So she sat on the kitchen counter with their suitcases by the front door, watching him intently as he wheeled in his serving cart loaded up with a medical kit, a jar with a length of tubing attached to it, along with some gloves and what looked like a small gun.

Her eyes grew worried as he slipped on the surgical gloves and handed her a pair, then opened the kit and pulled out a needle that he then attached to the free end of the tube that flowed into the jar. 

"The scene will be set to imply that your throat was slit before you were burned, so we will need to fill this jar," he said as he took her arm and rolled her sleeve up delicately, swabbing her vein with an alcohol pad. 

“Ready?” he looked up. She nodded apprehensively.

With a light gasp, she watched as he slipped the needle into her arm - his brow furrowed slightly in concern - and, painlessly, blood began to leech out of her and through the tubing, into the jar. 

"What we collect here will simulate the arterial spray,” he said as he picked up the little silver nozzle. “Blood leaves the body first at a gallop, and then a stumble, so the pressure in this nozzle recreates that. The jar is filled, the trigger is pulled, and your artery is effectively opened, all over the kitchen."

“A copycat murder?” she asked quietly as her blood pooled in the jar between them.

He knew it was distressing for her to recreate that morning yet again; the nightmares had haunted her still. When he glanced up, his eyes were kind. “Yes. The implication being that someone found inspiration in your former husband’s work, and... finished what he started.”

She watched as he delicately phrased things, but needed to know. 

“Someone?”

He nodded as he tore a piece of medical tape from a roll and taped the needle down, then stepped back to rest a hand on either side of her. He knew what was coming.

He wouldn’t tell her if she didn’t ask. But he wouldn’t lie if she did.

“Who?”

She knew the answer before he said it.

“Freddie Lounds.”

She felt a thrill - Lounds had been such a nuisance the past few months, making money off of Sophie’s suffering and feigning interest in her wellbeing. Her smile must have told him all he needed to know, but Sophie wanted more. 

“How?”

Now he grinned like the cat who caught the canary. “They will discover a body in the woods nearby, a drifter with your dental records to match. All signs will point to Miss Lounds, in a variety of ways: your DNA in her trunk, and hers scattered through the house. Fingerprints and tissue under the nails of the body they will find will match nicely as well.”

She smiled: she loved it when he let her in on his secrets. It made her feel powerful and connected to him. 

He glanced at the jar, now half full. "I briefly considered not bothering,” he said as he nodded towards the needle, “and simply thought about leaving a piece of you behind; a finger perhaps. But given the pain that would cause you, I couldn't bear it."

A chill ran down her spine at the thought. He noticed and smiled kindly as he took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. "Besides, your fingers are too lovely. When we get to Florence, I want to teach you to play the harpsichord," he said with a smile.

With a final glance at the jar, now nearly full, he nodded. "There we are. That should be enough. How are you feeling?" he asked as he slipped the needle out and held cotton over the puncture wound. He looked into her eyes, searching for signs of distress.

She breathed in deeply. "Alright. Just a bit dizzy.”

He nodded and took out a small bandage from the medical kit. “Very good. Some sugar will fix that," he said as he placed the bandage on her arm which he then raised to his lips and kissed gently. When he placed her arm back into her lap, he smiled. "Gloves on."

She slipped her hands into the surgical gloves and looked back up at him. He nodded and took in a breath, then asked: "Are you ready to die?"

What a question to ask. She took a deep breath and smiled.

"Can I press the button?"

He was so pleased to hear her ask. “Of course.”

He placed her hands on his shoulders and took her waist to help her off the counter wordlessly, with a proud smile, and held the nozzle out to her. 

She took it as he positioned himself behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close to him and pulling her head back gently with his other hand. 

For a brief moment she flashed back to that morning; Garrett held her the same way before slitting her throat open. But in the same instant she caught Hannibal's scent and felt him standing solidly behind her, and she relaxed. Where Garrett’s grip had been painful and terrifying, Hannibal’s was tender and soft; he held her like she were made of porcelain, his nose caressing her cheek as he took his position.

Moving her hand to aim the nozzle outwards from her neck, he squeezed her once against him and whispered into her ear, "Now."

The instant the button was pressed, a jet of blood shot out of the nozzle, sparkling out in a great arc. Sophie was shocked at how bright it was in the sun. 

He pulled her back gently, tenderly, mimicking the motion of yanking a blade against her neck and causing a perfect spray to spatter against the cabinets, the oven, the walls.

Being completely his in this moment was intense, almost sexual: together, they held Sophie’s life quite literally in their hands.

He pulled her tighter against himself and spun with her. The flow of blood throbbed like a heartbeat and sprayed the opposite wall. It was a massacre. An incredibly intimate massacre, and they were creating it together. 

With just a tiny bit left in the jar, the flow slowed and came to a stop, the remaining blood pooling on the floor at their feet. For a few moments, he held her still, panting against him in the glow of this release. It was orgasmic.

His fingers squeezed her ribs as he released his hold on her head. His lips feathered against her ear, "How does it feel to be dead?"

She smiled, chest heaving in the afterglow. "I've never felt more alive." 

He chuckled against her and hummed: "Good." 

Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he released her gently so she faced him, glowing, as they removed their gloves.

"There's just one more thing before we start our new lives," he said with a smile as he reached into his pocket. 

Before she could comprehend what was happening, he pulled out a small box and opened it to reveal a breathtaking ring. Her eyes went wide. 

"This is the other reason I couldn't bear to leave one of your fingers behind - you deserve to show off your newest gift." 

Sophie did a double take, her mouth open in shock, unable to speak.

"Last night I swore to you that I am yours,” he began. 

She watched as he dropped to one knee before her, holding the box aloft as he finished, “Now: will you be mine?"

Her breath caught; did he mean it?? Her eyebrows creased in question and he smiled hopefully. 

“You’ve shown me there is light in the world. To have you by my side to shine that light for the rest of our lives would be the ultimate gift. If you'll say yes."

Unable to suppress a laugh of joy, she replied, "Yes!" 

He stood and took her face in his hands and kissed her, spinning her.

“Yes," he whispered as he gently put her down, "Never has a single word sounded so sweet."

Beaming, he reached for her hand and slipped the ring on; it was stunning. Cartier. 

She admired it for a moment or two, then found his eyes. Surrounded by her own blood sparkling in the early morning sun coming through the windows, it was as surreal and perfect a moment with Hannibal could be.

She couldn’t wait for more.


	21. Pyre

Signora Renata La Perla stepped out of the elevator, the doors opening to reveal a huge two-story ballroom packed with masked revelers already dancing to a heavy thumping bass beat in dim light peppered with strobes.

One gold stiletto in front of the other, she walked slowly down the center of the huge staircase, eyes scanning the crowd for her partner. She smiled behind her ornate mask; he’d wanted them to arrive separately and without knowledge of each other’s costumes to keep each other guessing - and she found the hunt to be delicious. 

So she strode in, a Fox dripping in gold and jewels and burnt orange satin, ears tipped back and train trailing behind her, fur around her shoulders. Her eyes moved over the various characters: a Cat, a Pirate, a Bird of Prey... when they landed on a sleek black and gold bedecked Wolf with familiar salt and pepper hair and perfect posture:

Dottore Stefano La Perla, her husband of just a few weeks. 

He scanned the crowd below, in the middle of the dance floor, searching for his partner. She took the far staircase, taking her time to get to him - now that she’d spotted him, she wanted to play.

So she stalked her prey quietly while the music swirled around her, loud and incessant. In the middle of the dance floor, it was harder to find her Wolf once more; the people moved like one being, entranced by the beat.

At last she spotted the back of her Wolf and tapped him on his shoulder - only to come face to face with an Eagle.

“Scusa, spiacente,” she apologized, turning quickly to retreat and fight her way through the crowd again, this time back to the staircase where she could get a bird’s eye view. 

Again she thought she had found him, and so she followed a new lead only to come to a dead end once again when she tapped a Boar on the shoulder.

This time he grabbed her by the waist, clearly drunk, and began to dance with her. Renata’s pleas fell on deaf ears. She pushed, violently, to break away from him, which prompted him to curse at her in Italian.

She backed into the crowd as best she could once more to get away from him and felt a hand on her shoulder, shocking her.

Turning, she came face to face with her Wolf, shining and perfect, his mask covering most of his face but unable to hide his good looks. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

“The swine will die like one, you can rest assured, Little Fox,” his voice was cool and calm, music to her ears. 

“After the party of course?” she asked coyly, loving the sight of him in a black and gold brocade tuxedo and tails, hair slicked back under the mask and fur lined cape around his shoulders. 

“Of course. Would you mind pointing him out to me?” He held out a hand in offering; she accepted with a smile. 

They had hunting to do. Together.


End file.
